A Butterfly Flaps Its Wings
by manda600
Summary: Small changes can cause big ripples, starting on the night Robin first walks into MacLaren's. Barney/Robin focused AU based on the butterfly effect.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

* * *

Just a little background on what this story will be so everyone knows what they're getting going in: This is a takeoff on the themes of fate and destiny that are so wrapped up in the concept of HIMYM (and just to state this upfront, as is the case with all my HIMYM writing I do not recognize that AU finale episode and only accept the show from 1.01–9.22). In particular it espouses to the butterfly effect represented best in the Season 4 episode "Right Place Right Time" and the idea that a small change at a specific point in time can result in a rippling effect that alters the course of things down the line. For example, in "Right Place Right Time" Future Ted talks about how if Robin hadn't gotten food poisoning and if he hadn't stopped to look at the magazine of Barney's 200th and so forth then he wouldn't have ended up on that particular corner at just the right time to be stopped by the light and run into Stella, thus getting him the position at Columbia. But my fic also adheres to the idea that certain things have a _higher_ fate too, meaning in this example that if Ted is absolutely meant to be a professor at Columbia then it will happen someway, somehow, even if he hadn't met Stella at that corner. Even if it happens in a completely different way, if something is absolutely meant to be then it will eventually come to be no matter what course you take to get there.

What all of that philosophical groundwork means for this particular story is that it's an alternate universe to what you see in HIMYM, starting out on an alternate path right at the "Pilot" because of one small difference that changes everything. We'll see it spiral from there and see other small changes occur too that start their own rippling effects, and in the process examine what things will turn out differently and what will ultimately still happen. That means this alternate universe will _loosely_ follow several of the same events of the original series (the parts that are absolutely fated to be) BUT because they've all taken off on this alternate path those various events will happen in different, out-of-order, and sometimes twisted ways – some of them sooner, some of them later, some of them not at all, but _all_ of it altered and changed and new things added in by the butterfly effect. Meaning the things that show up in my story from the show are the things I believe were unconditionally predestined to happen to the characters no matter what alternate path and changes occurred.

Also so there's no confusion, nearly everything you know about the background of the main characters remains largely the same except for the following two differences: (1) Barney's job, although there is certainly a connection to the reveal in 9.15; and (2) James is not Barney's biological brother but instead his partner at work. I made this change because I wanted Barney to have a friend and sounding board who isn't a part of the main gang and who can therefore give him unbiased and impartial advice solely looking out for _Barney's_ best interest. That's something that was incredibly lacking in HIMYM and I think would have been extremely helpful to Barney's development. Yes, in canon James sort of filled that purpose at times but I wanted him to be there with Barney on a regular basis in a way that never really happened when they were biological brothers but will happen when they are partners assigned together every day (and, yes, Robin will have someone similar too).

One final thing so there's no disappointment; this is a long-play story so you will not see Barney and Robin get together right away. It's all heading there and it's certainly a Barney/Robin love story fic, but you won't see them dating in chapter two or anything like that. You're going to need to be patient and let it build just like it did on the show.


	2. Partners

"_Never forget that on any day you can step out the front door and your whole life can change forever. _

_You see, the Universe has a plan and that plan is always in motion. _

_A butterfly flaps its wings and it starts to rain. _

_It's a scary thought, but it's also kind of wonderful._

_All these little parts of the machine constantly working..."_

* * *

Barney stands near the window of his corporate office looking out at the early September leafs just beginning to change. He's always loved autumn in New York and relishes the fact that his job has kept him here in his home town to experience it one more time. Though tragically it means the end of sundress season, the first signs of fall feel like a cool refreshing respite after the long hot summer. Moreover, the new season brings with it three new months of wide-open promise. And as his motto goes – well, _one_ of his mottos – new is always better.

In that vein, he's taking Ted out tonight to get him laid. Dude hasn't had what he defines as a girlfriend in months. Despite living as the third wheel in Marshall and Lily's world of coupledom that doesn't usually bother Ted as long as he's getting a semi-regular flow of women in and out of his bed. Because while his best friend subscribes to "true love" in a way that makes Barney both scoff and shudder, Ted's no more ready to settle down than he is. Problem is, Ted's been going through a dry spell as of late and it's started to make him moody. But that doesn't change the fact that he's still got plenty of wild oats to sow – and lucky for Ted he has the Barnacle to help him find a new and willing field tonight.

"Hey, Stinson," he hears his partner's voice behind him and it draws Barney's attention back into the here and now.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the office, the two of them actually work for the FBI as undercover agents specializing in corporate corruption and espionage cases. They've been assigned at GNB for the past ten years, a long time by any count, but this is a huge international case: insider trading, fraud, money laundering, embezzlement, racketeering, extortion, obstruction of justice, _and_ financial ties with several shady organizations including some suspected terrorist groups. The corruption even goes as high as a handful of congressmen who have a direct ear to the White House yet are in cahoots with GNB's dirty dealings. Something as big as this requires a lengthy investigation with men deep undercover to gain the trust of the organization, and Barney has done just that, working his way up in in the corrupted division of the company as far as one can go. The senior managers in question don't suspect him in the slightest. He's fully infiltrated their group and become the smooth-talking, hard-playing, suited-up businessman just like the rest of them. But the big boss back at the FBI is getting impatient and there's no way Barney is going to call this investigation without seeing Greg behind bars. He has a personal stake in this case; it's what started his career in the first place and made him who he is today.

"James," Barney greets him expectantly. While he was keeping the executives busy in conference, James was up in Greg's office looking for the latest piece of evidence to be appropriated – secretly, of course – into his FBI file. Their meeting finished five minutes ago at which time Barney sent James a coded warning text. He had no doubt James would get out of there without being caught. The only question is if he got what they were after.

"Did you get the – " Barney cuts himself short when his secretary walks in with a stack of new paperwork. "You can just put it on the desk, Dolores," he instructs her and turns his attention back to James but slightly alters his word choice. "Did you get that file you needed?" he asks meaningfully.

"I did." Barney does a mental fist pump, but then James qualifies it with, "But it wasn't exactly what I expected."

Barney frowns. "Oh?"

"Yeah…..After all that work, I think I'm actually looking for a _different_ month's figures for – " Dolores clears the doorway, shutting it behind her as it seems the two men are talking important business, and James immediately cuts to the chase. "We were wrong about the Wharmpess deal. It's clean."

"Dammit."

"I know," James commiserates. "It's disappointing."

"We need to go back to investigating the execs that were in charge of the Altrucell merger. Take a third and four look. I'm telling you, _that's_ where the body's buried."

"I think you're right," James agrees. "But this means we'll have to confer with Arthur and Blauman tomorrow at headquarters. Let them know he's barking up the wrong tree."

Barney sighs. Arthur was sure the Wharmpess file would be the money shot. Barney never believed it personally; the man's just getting desperate and grasping at straws to finish up this investigation in the next few months. "That's not going to be a fun meeting, is it?"

"No, it is not," James deadpans. "….Especially after the way I left things with Blauman."

Barney grins. "You mean the way you gave him a free sample of the ol' Gibbs lovin at last month's corporate retreat?"

"It wasn't just a sample, my friend. It was an entire buffet."

"And yet you told him you weren't interested in any further shared feasts. Smart move." Barney lifts his hand for a high five that James reluctantly gives.

"It wasn't altogether like that. Blauman's a nice guy, but I'm not sure it's a good idea to get involved with someone you work with."

"Hey, you don't have to justify it to me, bro. You got yours, now – NEXT!" Barney calls. "And you know we can keep em lined up. You take all the guys, I take all the girls. It's a win-win situation."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," James cautiously begins. "You know how I haven't been out with you in a few weeks."

"I know. It's been me and Ted alone, and sometimes we could use that third heat. But I figured you were just laying low after the Blauman incident."

"No. It's more than that." James holds Barney's eye as he reveals the next part, already knowing his partner isn't going to like it. "I met someone. Tom. He's – well, he's just….I think he's everything I've been looking for. This could really be something, man, and I'd like to have you on board."

Barney groans in disgust. "_James_, not you too. I've already got Marshall to contend with and his balls rolling around in Lily's purse. Now I'm gonna lose another bro to 'love'?" he utters the word with disdain, putting it in air quotes. "And it'll only be a few years before Ted starts getting antsy too. What is it with all of you willingly putting a noose around your necks?"

"Come on, Barney," James says gently, getting real with him. "You know when you say stuff like that _I_ know that you're lying. You forget we went to college together. I knew you before you were _this_," James reminds him, running a hand over Barney's immaculately suited-up frame. "I know all about Shannon. I mean that's why we're here, isn't it?"

"Ahp, ahp, ahp," Barney stops him. "You know we don't say that name," he tells him uncomfortably. "…..It reminds me of a time I'm not proud of." Barney looks down, rearranging a Sharper Image toy on his desk that was fine the way it was. "It's embarrassing. And you know I don't do embarrassed. I get awesome instead."

"You _are_ awesome, Barney. But you were awesome before, just in a different way. That's why we were friends before we were partners. And you don't have to be embarrassed with _me_. You were the first one I came out to. You helped me through that, and I helped you when Shannon stomped on your heart like the little bitch I always knew she was," James grins in solidarity. "One's no different than the other."

"I guess," Barney shrugs, but he's smiling again too. "Why don't you come out with us tonight? Marshall and Lily are having some big romantic dinner, the anniversary of the first time they brushed hands or something nauseating like that. It's just gonna be me and Ted at the bar….unless you wanna bring that third heat?"

James laughs. "Did you hear nothing I just said? I'm in a relationship now. I'll still help get you all the tail you want – not that you need my help – but _I'm_ off the market. I'm a one man guy."

"Already? After just a few weeks?"

"It's been a month, and I didn't say we were getting married or anything, but if you want to see where something goes you've gotta keep it in your pants – or, you know, only take it out for the person you're with," James clarifies.

"Ech, monogyny," Barney spits.

"Says the guy who lived that way – monogamously _celibate_, I might add – for his first twenty-three years. But that wasn't natural for you?"

"And what did it get me?" Barney questions, uncharacteristically brooding because James has hit one too many direct targets for comfort.

James clamps a hand on his shoulder, knowing it's time to ease back. "If at first you don't succeed try, try again."

And just like that Barney flips the awesome switch. "Yeah, well, you let me know how that works out with this Tom guy."

James just shakes his head affably. "You just wait, Stinson. One day it's gonna happen to you. You're going to meet a woman who absolutely grabs you by the short and curlies, and I'm gonna sit back and laugh while you write sonnets for her like a lovesick little school boy."

"Pfftt," Barney chokes out a laugh. "You been drinking on the job again, Gibbs? Tonight Ted and I are going out to score some action and there'll be grabbing alright, but no sonnets. Just a good boning and then out by morning."

James only grins, knowing better but leaving it alone. "Better make it a _great_ boning. Cause we're going to get reamed by Arthur tomorrow," he says as he heads out of his office.

Barney grimaces, but puts it out of his mind as he gathers his things to head out for the night. A quick stop for a takeout meatball sub for dinner, then home to grab his pocket-sized _Playbook_, and on to MacLaren's where he and Ted and going to have one legendary night.


	3. MacLaren's

"What do you mean you're not coming?" Barney cries in outrage into his cell phone as he rides in the back of a cab on the way to MacLaren's. "Of course you're coming. And you're suiting up!"

"Barney," Ted petulantly protests as he picks at his fried potatoes at the diner down the street from the apartment where he sought refuge after Marshall wanted him to clear out for the night. "Did you not hear me? Marshall is getting engaged tonight. That's game changing."

"_Why_?" Barney questions in exasperation. "Marshall and Lily have been attached at the hip for the past nine years. Why should this change anything?"

"Because it's marriage, Barney. Even you have to admit that's a big deal."

"It's a big _mistake_," he corrects, "but go on."

"Like I said….it's a wakeup call. They're going to get engaged tonight and before you know it their wedding will be here. Where is this going to leave me? Sharing an apartment with a married couple?" Ted speculates. "Being the pathetic, eternally single and depressed live-in nanny when their first kid arrives? This whole thing has made me re-examine my own life. I've got to get it together. I've got to stop fooling around with you and find myself a wife too."

"Seriously, Ted? You think you can just order up a wife the way you order a burger? Even _I_ know it doesn't work like that," Barney says, throwing Ted's words back at him.

"Well, it will for me," Ted proclaims, refusing to accept anything else. "It will because _I_ want it to. I'm using the Think System."

"Okay, Professor Hill."

"Hey, being a professor would be awesome."

"No, it wouldn't; that's lame," Barney dismisses. "And you are aware the Think System was a load of crap, right? He just made it up so he could swindle the town and screw the librarian. Mad props to that last part, but the system didn't actually work. And besides, if you're gonna use tricks and schemes to get a woman into bed you've gotta make them up yourself, or at least give credit where credit's due. That's just etiquette – nay, bretiquette. It's basic Bro Code. But no worries. I've brought my travel-size copy of the _Playbook_ for you tonight," he assures him, patting his breast pocket. "Phone five!...You didn't do it, did you, Ted? I can tell when you don't do it."

From there it spirals into more and more of Ted's whining about how he needs to get married and find "the One". Barney tunes most of it out, hearing nothing but a low garbled droning, until Ted says, "Marshall's planning out the rest of his life, and what am I doing? Hanging out with Barney Stinson – the biggest, shallowest womanizer in the city – all in the hopes of picking up a bunch of nameless women at best and getting drinks thrown in my face at worst. I'm _not_ going, Barney."

Barney can't pretend it doesn't hurt to hear his self-proclaimed best friend talk about him that way, but then again Ted doesn't know the truth about his past the way that James does. None of them do – not Marshall, Lily or Ted – just like none of them know what he really does for a living. Still, you'd think after all these years Ted would be able to recognize at the very least that he isn't "the shallowest guy in the city" and that he does in fact care deeply about his friends and shows them great loyalty. But Barney brushes those hurt feelings away into that same dark corner where he locks up all his unspoken pain and he chooses to be awesome instead. It's just what he does. "Yes, you _are_ coming to the bar, Ted…..Alright, I can give on the suiting up part. But it's gonna be your loss. You'll have to take a 5 instead of 6."

"No," Ted laughs in an annoying I'm-humoring-you-because-I'm-above-it-all tone. "I'm done 'taking' women – and while we're at it I'm done labeling them as numbers. I'm going to find a wife and get married; it's happening. Like, _now_. I'm serious about this, Barney. I can't be rating my future wife on a hotness scale, and I can't be out trolling bars with you anymore."

"You act like hanging out with me is the worst thing, like you're doing me some kind of favor, but you love it and we both know it. Marshall getting engaged doesn't magically change that, no matter what you want to think now." When Barney's spot-on assessment is still met with silence, he lays out some more brutal honesty. "Tell me this: what else are you doing tonight, Ted? Hanging out at an all-night diner till 2 a.m.?"

"Okay, fine. I'll come to MacLaren's. I've got to meet my wife somewhere."

Barney chooses to ignore Ted's continued harping on the wife thing and merely focuses on the first part. "Sweet. I'll be there in ten." Anyway, he can change Ted's mind once he gets him in the bar within range of all those tasty cutlets.

* * *

A half an hour later Barney's standing at the bar scanning the room, scotch in hand, next to Ted who is sipping his beer morosely in between complaining.

"I'm never going to find her."

Barney rolls his eyes. "You just started looking twenty minutes ago. And in that time you've talked to all of one woman – who happened to be Carl's girlfriend." Sadly, he'd been very wrong about being able to shake Ted out of this whole marriage business as soon as he got him to the bar. The past twenty minutes have, however, taught him what a whining bummer his friend can be.

"But that lone woman _should_ have been the One," Ted laments. "All it takes is just one. And that's how I want it to be. I don't want an endless cycle of pointless dating to search her out. I just want to find her – right now. It should be fate and kismet and all that stuff you see in a movie."

Barney rolls his eyes again, sighing deeply. Ted has been playing this same pity party/tears and violins routine since he got here. Hoping to snap him out of it, he'd promised to be Ted's dedicated wingman tonight, his sole focus devoted exclusively to getting Ted a woman before he so much as set his eyes on anyone for himself. Either Ted goes home with someone first or they both strike out. Unfortunately it's becoming pretty clear that means they're both going home alone, and Barney takes a slug of his scotch to mourn all the sex he won't be having tonight.

Ted earlier criticized that no good ever comes from hanging out with him, and the self-loathing part of Barney that's disgusted by his own behavior – that part James was talking about earlier – in his rare, dark moments is secretly inclined to agree. But another part of Barney – the bitterest, most self-aware part – wonders if the same critique might be applied to Ted. Sometimes the two of them have great fun together, because after all nothing is truly legendary unless your friends are there to see it and experience it with you. But other times – like now – Ted can have this condescending way of treating him like he's the scum of the earth despite the fact that he too often engages in the very same behavior and enjoys it. That's the whole reason they became friends in the first place about a year after Barney took the job at GNB. By then James was fully out and while that meant they could rock a bar or a club from both ways and totally clean house sometimes Barney still had that yearning to 'troll for women', as Ted put it, with someone who could high five over an amazing rack and actually appreciate it. It's the same reason James sometimes goes to gay bars with his other friends who can similarly get excited for how well hung the guy in the corner appears to be. But after losing Dwayne, Barney no longer had any such person to fill that role in his life – and then he met Ted at the urinal and it all fell into place.

The trouble is Ted has developed that tendency to look down on him. Barney knows he doesn't really mean the little insults he makes, and he knows the whole looking down on him thing derives from Ted resenting the parts of Barney that he too possess but wishes _weren't_ there so he could just happily settle into a life mirroring Marshall's. Barney knows all this, but it doesn't mean those insults still can't sting.

And especially now that Ted's gotten on this marriage kick he seems to blame his entire state of being single on _him_, as if it's somehow his fault that Ted would rather casually bang chicks than settle down with just one. Ted finds too many faults in women anyway. The kind of perfect wife he'd be looking for doesn't even exist. And if she did, she'd bore the hell of most men – she's certainly bore the hell out of Barney.

"Maybe Marshall was right to find someone straightaway in freshman year," Ted ponders.

"Ted, will you just give it a rest. The world isn't going to implode and you're not going to die alone just because Marshall is getting engaged tonight and you're still single. Now look over by the far wall," Barney instructs, drawing Ted's attention to the front corner of the bar beyond their usual booth and just to the right of the door to the kitchen. "There's a Lebanese chick over there. I'll let you have her," he entices. "What do I always say about Lebanese chicks?"

"You're always saying something about one group of women or the other. You have way too many rules. I'm not even sure _you_ keep them all straight."

"Fine. Desperate times call for desperate measures." Barney pulls his travel-size manual out of his coat pocket. "I'll take you deep into _The_ _Playbook_. I doubt you're ready for it, but these advanced plays when performed correctly get results 83% of the time – and then 'results' again a second and maybe even a third time before you've climbed out her window." He mulls it over, flipping through the book. "How about "The Two Can Play At That Game"?"

Ted ignores him in favor of continuing with his Marshall-fueled, soul-mate-lacking rant. "I _finally_ know what I want. Everything's fallen into place, but it's like 'Here I am, ready to get married'." He stretches his hands out to the bar desperately. "Now where is – " Before he can finish that sentence his phone rings in his pocket. Knowing it can't be Barney, Ted figures it must be a serious call, perhaps even work, and he rushes to answer right away. "Ted speaking."

"Hey, Ted. It's Marshall. Don't freak out, but I'm calling from the emergency room."

"_What_?" Ted asks, doing exactly that. He slides the phone away from his mouth, telling Barney, "Marshall's calling from emergency."

"What happened?" Barney wants to know, concerned for their friend.

"I don't know."

"Well _ask_ him," Barney says at the same time that Ted says, "We need to head over there."

"Oh, okay, yeah. I'll ask him first," Ted resolves.

"Put him on speaker," Barney instructs. Once Ted does, Barney asks into the phone, "Marshall, what happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's not me; it's Lily. She's gonna be alright but we had a little accident."

What Barney can grasp from Marshall's overly-detailed story – along with frequent interruptions from Ted – is that Lily had a bad day at work. Some kid touched her butt during finger-painting hour and ruined her favorite skirt as well as put a serious damper on art time, Lily's favorite portion of the day, so she was already in a frazzled mood by the time she got to the apartment. She'd started to cook them some gourmet frou-frou dinner, and to get her back into a fully positive and happy mood again Marshall thought he'd ease her nerves with a little pre-celebration champagne. But, as usual, the guy was afraid to open it. They'd started bickering about that and Marshall didn't want to propose in the middle of a fight or when she was annoyed with him, so he decided to just man up and open the bottle himself like she wanted. But apparently he was correct about his incompetence because in the process he hit Lily with the champagne cork directly in the eye, thus their trip to the emergency room.

"Now she's got a scratched cornea and they're making her wear an _eye patch_," Marshall informs them. "Needless to say, the proposal is off for now, so don't mention it to Lily. I want it to be perfect for her, which means it'll just have to wait till some other time. I want to marry Lily more than anything but I guess there's no real hurry. We've already been together for almost a decade. What's a little while longer before we get engaged?"

After assuring Ted there's no point in him coming down to the ER since as soon as the doctor's finished patching Lily up – an unintentional pun that makes both Barney and Marshall crack up – they'll be heading back home themselves, they end the call.

"Huh, what d'ya know?" Barney chuckles to himself. "Maybe Marshall will hit her in the kneecap next time he tries to open a bottle and then we can get her a peg leg too!" He looks to Ted who's staring off into space, failing to appreciate his joke. "I know, I know," Barney sighs. "Where is your wife?"

"_No_," Ted answers slowly. "I was thinking just the opposite; I've been panicking over nothing. Marshall's right; there's no hurry….And you know something? Hearing that Marshal isn't getting engaged tonight or maybe even at all in the upcoming weeks, I'm actually _relieved_ that things can stay the same and I don't have to rush."

"And do you suppose that means you weren't really ready to settle down yet in the first place?" Barney points out.

"You're probably right. Why should I rush things? What's that you always say about getting married?"

"'Never get married until you're at least thirty', and I stand by that."

"That means I've still got almost a solid year before I even need to start worrying about finding the One," Ted reasons.

"YES!" Barney cheers. "So let's get you laid." He takes a moment to scope out the bar for any new talent that came in while they were busy on the phone or in the few minutes before that when he was drying Ted's tears. While his eyes sweep right, Ted's go left, and in seconds Ted is elbowing him.

"Whoa, Barney. See that girl over there."

Barney directs his attention over to where Ted is staring, and after just one look at her Barney feels everything settle down low and warm in his groin. This mysterious brunette in the green turtleneck is easily the hottest woman he's ever laid eyes on. The lack of skin on display only makes him want to peel away that shirt privately. Already he's imagined having her in at least ten different positions. And more than just physical beauty, she has a sharpness in her expression that tells him this woman isn't the typical attractive dullard he usually beds. No, this girl's got brains too. Even better, he can recognize the little twinkle in her eyes as she notices them noticing her that tells him she's a wildcat in the sack who wants her sex just as wild and kinky as he prefers his. "Oh yeah," Barney sighs, almost a groan. "You just know she likes it dirty."

She must have just gotten here while they were on the phone or he would have noticed her the second she walked in. But now Ted's seen her first and that means by all Bro Code laws he has implied first dibs should he choose to exercise them. And what idiot wouldn't? "So go say hi," Barney encourages, because at least _someone_ should get to experience being with her. "She is _hot_," he reiterates as he takes yet another look.

But none of the salience is there for Ted anymore. Despite seeing her across the room, he's no longer obsessed with fate and the idea of a 'meet cute' from an old movie because the need to keep up and find a woman as quickly as possible so he too can get married like Marshall doesn't exist anymore. And with that objective removed, Barney's right; what he needs is to get laid. It's been a month and a half and ol' Mosby needs some. But this girl, beautiful as she is, appears to be a little too much for what he's after tonight. He'd like to cut to the chase and just get to it. That means he needs a far easier target.

"Nah, she looks busy," Ted decides. "She's with a group of women – which is always a challenge – and, even worse, one of them is crying in the corner. I don't want to get in the middle of that. Not when there are other hot girls in the bar."

"God bless you, Ted. You've been reading my blog!" Barney enthuses. "It looks like I've taught you a thing or three over the years after all."

"That's not from you, Barney. That's just Guy 101….Oh hey, what about her?" he points out a different woman sitting at the other side of the bar who's already giving them the eye. "You've got to admit she's a 10."

Barney gives this new blonde a onceover. "Meh, she's a 7 at most. But that makes her perfect for you." And before Ted can say anything further and Ted-out about the situation, Barney is already playing his favorite game, tapping the blonde on her shoulder and arranging an introduction. "Excuse me, haaave you met Ted?"

Now that his mind is no longer preoccupied with what plans Marshall's making, Ted makes quick work of it. Barney stands back and watches proudly as, within ten minutes, Ted takes off with the 7 to a second location.

All alone and having now fulfilled his wingman duties, Barney focuses on finding _himself_ a little fun for the night. And he immediately turns his sights back to the girl Ted wouldn't say hi to. Ted's loss is his good fortune because the dibs are all _his_ now.

Ted couldn't handle that anyway. This woman isn't just a mere 10. She's something like a 20. Far too much for Ted.

A 20.

Even _he's_ never been with a 20…..But he has a feeling he's about to scale that mountain.


	4. Playing with Fire

**24 Hours Earlier**

* * *

"Robin, are you still here? It's after eight."

Robin looks up from the desk/makeup table of her tiny little walk-in-closet-sized dressing room at Metro News 1 to see Patrice's concerned face staring back at her. "I'm just finishing up on a new story," she says, her fingers typing furiously to get that last line down before she forgets it.

Patrice's expression brightens. "A new story for tomorrow?"

Patrice's misplaced hopefulness effectively deflates Robin's own tenuous enthusiasm and, sighing, she glances back up. "No. Tomorrow I'm still covering the pet fashion show in the park," she acknowledges drearily. "This was something of my own I was hoping to pitch." Who is she kidding, though? No one here is ever going to take her seriously. It's a waste of time trying. "Never mind. It's stupid. You're right; I should just go home."

"I'm sure your story's good, Robin," Patrice puts in brightly. "They'll want you to deliver it on air if you only let them see it."

At least Patrice takes her seriously, Robin thinks to herself. But Patrice is only a production assistant – as well as her self-appointed position as Robin's part time personal assistant – so fat lot of good it does her professionally speaking. "Thanks, Patrice, but we both know this is a dead-end job. All I get are little fluff pieces, and we have all of two viewers to watch them."

"Three," Patrice corrects encouragingly. "_I_ always watch."

"Metro News 1 thanks you for your support," Robin smiles wryly. The truth is they need every viewer they can get since most people have never even heard of the station. She herself hadn't before she got hired.

Robin took the job at Metro News 1 right after she moved to New York. It was the first and _only_ thing she could get in a competitive city, but it's turned out to be a far cry from what she dreamed of back at home in Canada.

Her very first day on the job she met Patrice, and the two women couldn't be further opposites. Patrice is optimistic, openly warm, effortlessly congenial, and easily opens up about every little thought, feeling, and emotion. Patrice wears her heart on her sleeve for the whole world to see, whereas Robin keeps hers locked away buried deep inside where no one can touch it so that no one else can ever break it again.

One would never guess the two of them could get on at all, but Patrice was instantly taken with Robin, first and foremost because she's a genuinely nice person and gets on with everyone. But Robin quickly became her special case. The way Patrice sees it, Robin is a strong, competent, intelligent, professional woman worthy of admiration, but there's also something of need and vulnerability in her that was instantly apparent to Patrice. Robin's walls were and still are up – that's evident in the way she acts – but they're up for her own protection. Everything about who Robin is, particularly as she's gotten to know her more, makes Patrice want to help her.

Robin for her part found all the attention and adoration overbearing at first, but a couple weeks into knowing each other Patrice met someone who is now her serious boyfriend and he takes some of that constant focus off of her. With that balance in place, Robin finds it's actually kind of nice having Patrice around as a friend. A work friend anyway. They don't see each other much outside the studio. She doesn't see _anyone_ much outside the studio.

"But let's face it," Robin rationalizes. "This story is never going to see the light of day."

"Probably not," Patrice levels with her, sadly. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't deserving."

As she walks past her to grab her laptop case, Robin pats Patrice's shoulder once in the same way she pets her Dalmatian. It's the closest to open affection she ever shows; anything else makes her uncomfortable. "I'm heading home now, so you don't have to worry."

Patrice shakes her head. "I'm still gonna worry. Heading to work and heading back home is all you ever do. There's got to be something more to life than that. We need to find you a boyfriend."

Robin gives her a disappointed look, groaning audibly. "You too? I mean I know you're all about 'true love' and 'destiny', but you've also been paving a career in a male dominated industry the same as I have. I thought there'd be _something_ of a feminist in you."

"Being a feminist doesn't mean you can't believe in love and marriage," Patrice points out.

And, okay, Robin has to give it to her; she does have a point. "I never said I didn't _believe_ in it. Just that I personally don't need a man to function in life. I hear enough of that point of view from movies, TV shows, and my own mother," Robin adds defensively. "I don't want to hear it from you too."

"Of course you don't _need_ a man, Robin," Patrice laughs gently. "I just _want_ you to have what Joe and I have. I think you want that kind of happiness too, even if you won't admit it to yourself. It can get awfully lonely when you're single. Having someone to be with, finding that kind of love, you don't absolutely have to have it to function but it _enhances_ your life. It's just like your dogs; you don't need them but it's nice to have them around. Boyfriends are the same way."

"Maybe for some people. Maybe even for me someday," Robin allows. "But I'm not ready for that right now. I'll just stick to my dogs, thanks."

"At least come out with the girls then. Have a _little_ bit more of a social life. Cindy and Chad just broke up so we're all taking her out tomorrow night to this bar she likes, MacLaren's. You should come with us, Robin…..Maybe you'll even meet someone."

"Ugh, what did I literally just say, Patrice?"

"I know, but I haven't seen you with a guy since you moved to New York two months ago. In that time your dogs can't be providing all the companionship a man can."

Robin thinks about that for a moment and Patrice is unfortunately right. She has been going through something of a dry spell, and there are just certain things that even the love of the sweetest puppy – or the nightly attention of even the most high-powered vibrator – can't quite satisfy. "It has been a while….and there _are_ some things I miss," Robin admits.

"Like what?"

"Patrice," Robin smiles waywardly. "They'd make you blush."

"I have a boyfriend," Patrice reminds her. "Maybe one of the things you miss is something _I_ did last night."

"Touché. Alright…." Robin's smile turns decadent as she imagines the things she misses most about having a male bed companion. "One of the things I miss is running my fingers over a man's chest and abs – especially when he's built enough that there's something to run my hands over. But my favorite thing, what I miss most of all – well, besides the main thing, _his_ thing," she smirks, "is that muscle ridge that forms a V just above the hips pointing right down to the good stuff. I can't get enough of that…..Or of being taken, hard and fast and just – " She stops herself, realizing she's clutching her laptop case to her chest.

"Robin, you _really_ need to come out with us tomorrow," Patrice deadpans.

"Fine. Yes. I need to get laid. So alright, I'll come out to this bar – MacLaren's, is it? – tomorrow night. But I'm not becoming BFFs with the rest of the female staff. And I'm not falling madly in love either," she rolls her eyes. "The only thing I'm falling into is some hot guy's bed."

* * *

**Present**

* * *

If Robin had any idea how wrong she'd been about tonight she would have went home after work like every other night, sex starved or not.

Because she's been nothing but miserable. What's worse, Patrice came down with the flu this morning and didn't even come to the bar herself, despite insisting _she_ be there. At least with Patrice as a mediator it would have kept her more involved in the conversation with her coworkers. Robin's made an honest effort on her own, but sometimes friendships with women – especially flighty, girly-girl women like these ones – can be trying. And she can't even be on the prowl like she'd hoped when she has to stay here with the group in some kind of anti-male, girl power comradery, drying Cindy's tears with all the others. She's firmly planted herself in their large corner booth like she knows she's expected to do, but her thoughts and focus have drifted as the night wears on.

The first place they drifted to – and where they've been ever since – is on the hot blond up at the bar in the killer suit she saw eyeing her earlier. She can't say how long he's been here or when he first came in because when she herself arrived she was too preoccupied with all the expected but loathed fanfare. Although they see each other on a daily basis, every time the women of the station meet again they greet one another as if it's been ten years. There are hugs, cheek kisses, squeals, simpering little salutations and over-the-top reception all around. And in her case it comes along with excited requests for an explanation as to how she came to be out with them tonight when she usually avoids it like the plague.

By the time the women's attention was off of Robin enough for her eyes to wander without being caught Blondie was by himself up at the bar. His dark-haired friend who she scarcely got a look at since all her focus was on _his_ magnetic blue eyes was nowhere to be found and the suited hottie was instead entertaining himself with the fairer sex, talking to what would be the first of many women she'd witness him hit on and vice versa.

It's been fascinating to watch the smoothness with which he operates. She'd say the women never stand a chance but it really doesn't look like they want one.

Oddly enough, however, for all the numbers she's watched this Barney collect – or so he claimed his name to be in one of the come-ons she'd overheard – he's never actually left with any of the women, and more than a time or two she's caught his eyes back over on her_._

….She almost wonders if he's waiting for her, waiting for a chance to take _her_ home since she hasn't left the booth all night and men like him always wait until they've got you separated from the pack before they pounce.

The thought isn't unpleasant to her. Not at all. She came here looking for a one night stand and when she scanned the bar he was easily the one she wanted to go home with. The only one.

She hasn't had sex in too long. _Far_ too long. Robin misses sex. She misses everything about it. She's in the market for something casual and fun, and she has no doubt Hot Guy in the Suit could satisfy her requirements and then some.

But she doesn't want to be a part of anyone's revolving door of bed partners, no matter _how_ hot he is. Maybe that's hypocritical since she herself wants a one night stand – or possibly a laidback, ongoing sexual affair if the guy was right. That appears to be exactly what Blondie's after too, and what's good for the goose is good for the gander; that's always been her rule. Yet even on the prowl for a one night stand she still doesn't want to be just another number to a guy.

And with a guy like this he probably can't even remember what number she'd be.

Still, she's been here for over an hour, the night has been insanely dull….and she finds she can't resist tempting it just a little, playing with fire knowing she absolutely won't get burned because this game will never go any further than the barstool.

Standing up, Robin heads across the room – alone for the first time all night – to order herself a drink, waiting to see if he takes the bait.


	5. Challenge Accepted

From his place near the jukebox where some random woman is attempting to chat him up, Barney's gaze follows Robin's progress up to the bar.

Much as he's wanted an opening from her – figuratively and literally, what up! – the 20, as he's called her in his mind since he first laid eyes on her, has been surrounded all night by a gaggle of females. And he knows from past experience that the group approach is rarely successful. Either you get shot down by one of her girlfriends or one of _them_ wants you instead and the whole thing turns awkward.

Consequently, he's spent the last hour and fifteen minutes biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to talk to her away from the others, and now that the chance has presented itself he nearly sprints across the room – in the most suave and totally not eager way possible, of course.

Barney sidles up beside her at the bar just in time to hear her request to Carl – "Dirty martini" – and he smiles inwardly at the stroke of luck as it gives him the chance to use Approach #3. "Interesting order," he slickly remarks.

Robin turns to find Hottie in the Suit now beside her and she doesn't even attempt to hide her amused smile. "Why?" she shots back, genuinely curious as to where he's going with this. "There are about fifteen women in the bar drinking this very same thing right now."

Already Barney knows from her response that he was correct earlier about her sharpness and brains, and he attempts to modify his usual line accordingly. "Yes, but _you_ drinking it is interesting to me….An order says a lot about the person."

"Does it?" she asks.

And there's that knowing amusement again, keeping him on his toes.

"Without question," he replies, still attempting to stick to his usual game, if slightly refined. "Take a person who orders scotch, like myself for instance. Scotch is urbane, sophisticated, and smooth – with a great body for your tongue," he adds with a smirk.

It's a cheesy line but she can't help smiling at it despite herself. With him, it's all in the charm of the delivery. He's every bit as much fun as she suspected he'd be from her observations. But she's not prepared to let _him_ know that just yet so she answers with a noncommittal, "Is that right?"

"It's accurate 83% of the time," he states confidently as if it's a well-known scientific fact. "Or 100% of the time in my case. Now you ordering a dirty martini, that implies – "

"Oh, I know what you'd say it implies," she interrupts with a laugh.

That throws Barney off. She didn't even let him finish his line – and she's laughing. A woman's laughter is usually a good thing, but his 'drink that you ordered' pickup line isn't supposed to be funny. It's supposed to be sexy. But it's clearly not working on this girl. "How do you know what I'd say?" he tests her.

"Because I know guys like you. I know _you_. I know precisely how you work. Why do you think I came over here? I was waiting for you to come hit on me. And just as I thought," she grins boldly, "it took exactly ten seconds."

Barney narrows his eyes at her. This girl is different. Not only is she keeping up with him – which never happens – she's actually forcing _him_ to keep up with _her_. And she's not afraid to cut him down to size. She's a challenge, that's for sure. A rare intellectual challenge…..and he _loves_ a challenge.

But it's clear that no play – modified or otherwise – is going to work on her. With this woman he needs to be straightforward, just himself with nothing else put on. It's a rarity, a slightly intimidating but tremendously exciting one.

"I apologize; the redhead over there got in my way or I would have been here sooner," he quips, though entirely honestly in this case. "But now your wait is over; I'm here, and I _have_ hit on you. Although you didn't fall for my dirty martini line," he points out, since her response makes little sense if she wanted to be hit on by him.

"That's because I'm not drunk," she retorts. And there's that amused little smile again that makes him want to kiss her desperately. "And _I_ actually have a higher IQ than bra size so I doubt I'd fall for your lines anyway."

Talk of her bra size naturally causes his eyes to drift there and the already nearly overpowering urge to kiss her rises tenfold. That's it; he _has_ to be with this woman. He has to experience her at least once. With that in mind, he again answers honestly. "Your IQ is impressive, but so is what's beneath that bra….I could take both out to play tonight. That's what _I've_ been waiting for. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You said you were waiting for me to come to you, just like I was waiting to get you alone."

She did admit that, didn't she? But it was for the fun of it, not because she has any intention of actually sleeping with him. "My coworker just went through a breakup and I've been sitting here all night hearing about how Chad did her wrong." Robin shrugs. "I got bored. My mind wandered."

"And it wandered straight to me," Barney smoothly fills in.

"Not for the reasons you think," Robin grins. "I watched you all night," she reveals. "I saw the way you operate. And I've gotta say, it's entertaining. So….I was curious to experience it for myself. But there's no way I'm gonna volunteer to join your three ring circus. And even if I was that naïve – and, let's face it, that stupid – I'm not looking for a relationship or _any_ kind of love connection."

He respects the way she gets straight down to business, so he will too. "Well then, I'll keep it simple on all accounts: no relationship, no three ring circus, and definitely no love." He leans in closer, setting his elbow alongside hers against the bar. "Why don't you just come home with me tonight?" he proposes. "I'll even drop my normal 'sex three times before going out to dinner' rule for you. We can stop somewhere and get a bite to eat first before I make you forget your own name."

She shouldn't want him as much as she does, but the reality is she'd like nothing more than to play with him tonight, rolling around in his sheets that smell as good as he does. But wanting doesn't mean doing, not tonight anyway and not with him. "You _are_ intriguing," Robin allows with a soft smile that has him leaning even closer. "But I'm not having a one night stand with you."

"Friends with benefits?" Barney tries.

Robin laughs. "We'd have to be friends first."

He considers that for half a second. "Alright," he decides. "Challenge accepted. So how about I let you in on the play?"

She gives him a cautiously curious look, the smile still dancing on her lips. "What does that mean?"

"Let's be friends then. You find my 'three ring circus', as you put it, so entertaining. Well, I'll let you behind the curtain; show you all my tricks, all the inner workings. You can be in on the game. You're impressed with my work, I can tell. And I respect that." He tilts his head in deference, straightening his tie. "I could always use another bro. It'll actually be quite interesting to have a wing_woman_ for my broings on about town. What do you say?"

Now it's Robin's turn to consider.

She ought to throw her drink in his face. At the very least she should walk away, walk out of the bar and never set eyes on him again…..But, like she told him, he _is_ intriguing….

Her job's a bore, her social life is nonexistent. She barely even speaks to her family and hardly knows anyone in the city yet. Meeting this cocky, eccentric, and charming mystery man in the suit is the most interesting and exciting thing to happen to her in longer than she cares to admit.

And it's still not like she's going to sleep with him. But he seems like a fun person to be around. Broing about town, is that what he called it? That sort of exhilaration and fun is just what she needs in her life. Patrice wasn't wrong; she _does_ need to get out more often. As serious as she is about her career, work can't be everything.

She sets her martini on the bar, extending her hand to him. "Robin Scherbatsky."

"Barney Stinson," he smiles, taking her hand in his and holding it longer than necessary for a simple introduction before finally letting it go.

Robin wishes she could say she felt nothing when he touched her but that would be the biggest lie she's ever told. She's not going to sleep with him though. She's _not_. She just needs sex badly. That's the _only_ reason she's picturing dragging him into the women's room right now.

But she's cool and collected through years' worth of practice and doesn't let any of that inner yearning show. "So that _is_ your real name," she says in cheeky reply.

"I decided to use it tonight," he grins, continually impressed by her quickness. "What about you?"

"I always use my real name." Then she realizes that's not entirely true. "Well…except for the once. But that's a long story."

Barney can smell weakness and titillation a mile away and instantly pounces on that slipped bit of information. "I like long stories, especially sexy ones that involve hot aliases."

"Then this one will disappoint you," she smiles. There is nothing sexy about her squeaky clean years living under her teen alias.

"Try me."

"Uh-uh." Robin shakes her head, quietly adding, "I never tell that story to anyone." She picks up her drink again, taking another sip of the martini.

Barney could keep on after her but there's something about the way she avoids eye contact, something in her entire body language of vulnerability surrounding the subject that lets him know this story – whatever it may be – really does make her uncomfortable. And though he barely knows her, already something tells him that's the last thing he'd ever want to do. "Okay," he backs off. "We all have our skeletons in the closet. I'll let you keep yours," he gently tells her.

She appreciates the way he respects her wishes, not prying any further where she's made clear she doesn't want anyone going. But when she looks up to meet his gaze again it's the hint of empathy and understanding she sees in his eyes that truly surprises her. This man is fun, and charming, and unique, and incredibly hot in his tailored suit. All of that is plain to see. But this one caring look from him revealed there's more going on beneath the surface. A lot more. And she'd like to find out what.

"What skeletons do you have, Barney Stinson?" she asks softly, and despite herself a tone of blatant flirtation slips into her voice. She finds herself leaning just a little closer and she knows lust very well may be written all over her face. Because she'd also like to experience the more obvious attributes hidden beneath that expensive suit. She's not going to let herself, but she can't help wanting to.

Barney watches the way Robin leans just a little more into him and he knows he was also right earlier about the little twinkle in her – she wants sex just as much as he does; she likes it wild and kinky, the same way he prefers it; and now he can tell that she even wants it with _him_.

The two of them could have so much fun together it's insane. He knows he's going to have to work for it though. But for the first time in a very long time he actually doesn't mind. With her, he has a feeling the getting there is going to be as enjoyable, if not more so, than the actual sex with his usual conquests. And with her, when he finally does get her into bed, it is going to be _off the charts_ explosive.

"Let's get out of here," he says, setting down his scotch and nodding towards the door.

Robin's lips form that amused smile again. "I told you, I'm not going to sleep with you."

"Not _yet_, anyway," Barney maintains mischievously. "But relax; I'm just working on the 'friends' part of 'friends with benefits'. I've watched you all night too, and not only were you bored to tears with that laugh fest you've been trapped in but you were also starving. And the party girls over there were only having drinks all night, nothing to eat."

"We came straight from work. I haven't had dinner yet," Robin admits. She'd been wishing for a plate of appetizers for the past hour. Her stomach had growled a time or two back at the booth, but she hadn't even realized just exactly how hungry she is until he just mentioned it now. How can he read her _that_ well, she wonders, a bit unnerved.

"Perfect. I'll fix that." A thought occurs to him and he grins devilishly. "Oh ho-ho! I know just the place. But it's in Brooklyn," he warns, unsure if she'll agree to go with him that far.

"I live in Brooklyn."

"_Awesome_. Cause I know you'll appreciate this….."

As Robin grabs her purse off the bar, heading with Barney out the door, she doesn't have any doubt at all that he's right. The trouble is, she already appreciates him way too much for her own good.


	6. Becoming Friends

Leading Robin to the one particular table in the little bistro he wanted to show her, Barney explains, "My friend showed me this place a couple weeks ago and he was obsessed with – wait for it….."

He draws her attention to the wall beside their table and Robin looks up, confused. "A blue French horn? Huh. I'll give you it's a little odd, but what's the big deal?"

Barney shrugs. "He thought it was avant garde. I told him it looks like a smurf penis."

Robin laughs hysterically at that. "It _does_ look like a smurf penis!"

"Right?" Barney laughs along. "I knew I wasn't the only one."

Once they're settled at the table with drinks and their dinner order placed, Robin looks across at Barney. "So," she begins, absently swirling the scotch in her tumbler, "like I said back at the bar, I've watched you all night – "

"And liked what you saw," he interrupts self-assuredly.

"Never said that," she smiles.

"You didn't have to. You followed me to a second location. It's a given."

Robin grins again, but chooses not to answer. "What I was saying is; all the women, all the lines….tell me, Barney, how did you get to be this way?"

"You mean so awesome?"

Despite having only known him for an hour, there's something about him that Robin likes immensely and she laughs. "Okay, I rephrase the question: How did you get to be this _awesome_?"

"I was born this way," Barney replies easily. "But I perfected it through years of 'research'," he adds with air quotes. "On you, I used Approach #3."

"Approach #3?" she questions, amused. "You actually number them?"

"Naturally, like any scientific endeavor," he answers as if it makes the most sense in the world. "And the Drink You Ordered line is Approach #3." He holds a finger up to quickly highlight, "But approaches aren't to be confused with plays, mind you."

"Plays?" Robin ponders aloud. "As in hockey?"

"Hockey?" Barney scoffs, aghast.

"Alright," she corrects, rolling her eyes, "football then, if you prefer. I'm Canadian; hockey is our go-to."

"You're _Canadian_?"

"Mm-hmm," Robin confirms, taking a sip of her drink. "Born and raised in Vancouver."

Having recovered from the initial shock of discovering anything slightly less than awesome about her, Barney nods sympathetically. "But you were lucky enough to get out and become an American citizen now."

"No. I'm here on a work visa."

"So you're _still_ a Canadian citizen?" he questions, appalled.

"Yes."

"But – " He looks across the table at her, baffled. "Why be Canadian when you could be American?"

"Because I _am_ Canadian. It's my home."

"Well," he says after just a second of contemplation, "you're awesome enough that I won't hold it against you."

Robin smiles, shaking her head. "What's so bad about Canada?"

"_Is_ there anything in Canada, besides moose and Zambonis?"

"Okay, forget the Canada bashing," she grins, despite herself. "Let's get back to the original subject. What are these 'plays' of yours that are so different from your basic numbered approaches?"

"Approaches are pick-up lines you use on a woman. I came up with them, so of course they're clever and impossible to resist," he expounds, straightening his tie in a way that Robin's already realized must be a signature move of his. "But they're just basic lines to open up the dialogue. A play is something so much more sophisticated and refined," he tells her, his voice imbued with deference. "A play is a multi-step bamboozle. A hoodwink. The ultimate challenge. It's a work of art, really. And I've perfected an entire book full of them, _The Playbook_. I discuss it at length in my blog."

"You have a blog too?"

"Barney's Blog," he verifies with a proud grin. "I've dedicated my free time – well, my free time that's not spent banging hot chicks – to teaching all the unfortunate men of the world who are less awesome them me – meaning everyone – how to live."

"Barney's Blog, hmm? I'll have to check that out. I'm sure it's fascinating – in a terrifying kind of way." She's about to say more when their dinner arrives. Once the waitress leaves and they're a few bites in, Robin resumes the conversation. "Besides your pickups and your blog, what do you do for a living, Barney?"

Robin's kept him mentally on his toes since he met her and it's been an enjoyable challenge up until this point, but now his subconscious walls lock in place. His career is always a subject that sets off warning bells. Even his closest friends don't know what he actually does for a living. In trademark Barney Stinson fashion he gives her the same reply he gives everyone else: "Please."

Robin blinks at him. "Seriously? You're not going to tell me?"

Again, she's surprised him. All his other friends just accept that response with a shake of the head and move on for the time being, losing interest perhaps a bit insulting quickly. But she's still looking at him expectantly with a touch of annoyance at his enigmatic response. Barney knows she's not about to just let this go….He finds it's equal parts daunting and surprisingly nice to have someone take such an interest in him.

Still, he can't tell her the truth. It's strictly forbidden for a number of reasons. But he's going to have to give her something. "I work at GNB."

GNB? The bank? Robin finds that surprising. He seems too creative and eccentric for such a normal, even slightly mundane career. "You work in finance? I wouldn't have figured you for a numbers guy."

"I'm a big-time numbers guy," Barney smirks. "Into the triple digits now."

Robin levels him with a look. "As in, women you've slept with?"

"As in women I've slept with," he proudly confirms.

"Is that really a bragging point?"

"Oh come now, Scherbatsky." He leans in closer across the table, his expression pure flirtation. "You're not exactly a prude; I can tell."

Robin's more affected by him – particularly by the way he's looking at her – than she'd care to be, and certainly much more than she'd ever admit, but she simply shrugs nonchalantly. "I have a healthy sex life," she doesn't even bother to deny. "But I don't keep a list – and it's definitely not beyond double digits….But, hey, who am I to judge?"

"That's why I like you," he winks with a click of his tongue. "As long as we're on the subject of careers, what about you, Robin? What do you do besides tease men in bars?"

"How exactly did I tease you?" she laughs.

"You were the hottest woman in the bar and you said no," he explains like it's the most obvious thing ever.

She can tell he's kidding but can't resist playfully retorting, "And that makes me a tease? You need some lessons in feminism." He smirks at that and she continues, "But to answer your question, I'm a broadcast journalist. I work for Metro News One."

Barney's expression turns confused. "There's a Metro News One? That's a channel?"

It figures, Robin thinks, sighing. "I'm not surprised you didn't know. No one does. In the numbers game, I'm pretty sure our viewers are in the single digits."

"Well you've just gained one more," he says assertively. "Robin Scherbatsky, I'm gonna catch your every broadcast."

She feels a little thrill of….._something_ at that, at the idea of him out there watching her broadcasts, finding her relevant in a way no one else seems to. On the other hand, once he does watch he'll find out what a nobody she actually is. She supposes it's best to disillusion him with the truth at the outset. "I hope you like fluff pieces then," she says self-deprecatingly but with a hint of genuine discouragement that Barney doesn't miss. "Today I covered a pet fashion show in the park."

"Ooh, really?" he laughs, but files away that bit of knowledge of discontentment with her job.

The conversation continues to flow throughout the rest of their dinner together and it's obvious there's a connection between them. They keep discovering things they have in common and it's clear they have an instinctive understanding of each other. Neither one has ever gotten on so well with someone so quickly. They seem to be kindred spirits.

But it's complicated by the fact that they're both wildly attracted to one another. Standing on the curb outside the restaurant next to the waiting cab, they find themselves at a crucial juncture of just what exactly they will or won't be to each other.

"So," Barney begins, slipping his hands into his pockets, "can I call you sometime?" Robin opens her mouth and he anticipates her, clarifying, "For broings on."

"You are a singular man, Barney Stinson," she smiles. He's like a force of nature, impossible to resist.

"That I am."

"It was almost magic the way you effortlessly collected numbers tonight," she muses. "Like the Pied Piper drawing women in."

"It's funny you should say that because I actually _am_ magic," he rejoins, suddenly shooting a fireball into the air.

"Oh my god! _Barney_," she exclaims, jumping back in surprise. "I hope you don't do that at the bar around alcohol."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" he pouts.

The fact that he honestly doesn't seem to know makes her laugh. "But….I can see how young, drunk coeds find that hot."

"They _do_ line up to throw themselves on my sword."

Robin shakes her head, unable to keep the smile from her lips. "I can't believe women fall for that stuff. 'My penis is a genie'? You _really_ tried that line?"

"And it worked. But before you start empathizing and crying sisterhood, don't you worry; I show them a good time."

"Do you?"

"Absolutely," Barney smoothly assures her, moving in closer. "You don't sleep with a hundred and eighty three women without perfecting the art of the female orgasm – or I should say multiple orgasms."

She smiles. "That sounds like one of the plays you'd use."

He meets her smirk for smirk. "Orgasmologist _is_ page number 20 of the _Playbook_."

"How did I know?" she laughs, helplessly charmed by him in spite of the fact that he's clearly insane.

"But it also happens to be a true story. I _have_ perfected providing the ultimate orgasm."

"Really?" she asks hoping to sound skeptical but with more interest in her voice than she'd hoped to betray.

Seeing that she's intrigued and even a little aroused, he answers, "Try me sometime and you'll find out. But that's the 'benefits'. We're still working on the 'friends' part….right?" he tempts, leaning into her.

Robin's eyes drift to his lips; she can't help it. She _does_ want him. She'd like to pull him into the cab and enjoy those 'benefits' right here and now. But she shakes herself out of it. She still doesn't want to be a number on his figurative bedpost. Plus, he really is pretty awesome and she enjoys being around him. Barney seems to just get her, which isn't something she's experienced, well, _ever_. She'd like to keep him around as a friend. It just isn't worth throwing that away for one night of sex – even if with their chemistry it would likely be the best she's ever had.

"Right," she confirms. "We're working on the 'friends' part. But for the record, I wouldn't have cried sisterhood. Those women are old enough to know what they're getting into when they go home with someone they just met and do all the dirty and depraved things I'm sure you do."

"Yeah, but you like it dirty," Barney says, giving her a roughish smile. The moment stretches out between them and he can tell she wants to kiss him. But he can also tell she has no intention of actually doing so. Not now anyway. "Wanna share the cab?" he proposes.

Robin laughs. "There's no way I'm letting you see where I live."

"Scared?" he challenges in a low provocative tone, reaching up to play with a lock of her hair.

"No. I'd just rather not have you using it as a bang pad when I'm at work. I know enough about you already to know you'd find a way."

"I like the way you think, Scherbatsky," he grins. "And what you just said – the 'already' – means we _are_ going to be friends."

"Yes, you can call me." As she slips him her card, she gets an even better idea. "In fact, I'll meet you at MacLaren's tomorrow night. Why not? What have I got to lose? I still don't have many real friends in the city, just my assistant, and you're way better than the Heartbreak Brigade from the station." She sighs, shaking her head. "It's tiresome being around women sometimes, listening to them go on and on..."

"Preaching to the choir," he agrees. "That's why I'm out the window as soon as we've gotten off."

"I bet you are," she smirks, opening up the cab's backdoor. "So tomorrow night we run a gambit together? And maybe after I've gotten you a bed partner for the night you can get _me_ a guy for the same thing." If she's going to be hanging around Barney for any time at all she's going to need to take care of this whole sex starved problem ASAP or she's in severe danger of making a meal of him.

"I thought you weren't interested in one night stands?" Barney protests.

"I said I wasn't having a one night stand with _you_," she corrects cheekily.

"That's right," he nods. "Because with me you'll be coming back for seconds and thirds."

Robin smiles, replying playfully, "I'm not sleeping with you."

"She says with a coy twinkle in her eye," he teases.

"Those are just my eyes, Barney."

"They didn't look like that earlier tonight, Robin. The benefits are coming. You'll see. But for now, tomorrow we go big."

"Tomorrow we go big," she agrees, preparing to get into the cab. Alone. "Good night, Barney."

"To the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Humphrey Bogart. Really? I see you as more of a Dean Martin."

"A solid bro, looks great in a suit, known for scoring with the ladies? I take that as a compliment. Besides, I was wrong. This is going to be a _legendary_ friendship. Night, Scherbatsky," he says in sync with her laughter as she steps into the cab.


	7. Mind The Fall

The empty-handed meeting at headquarters – on a Saturday afternoon no less – is just about as pleasant as he and James had imagined, meaning the reception by both Blauman and Arthur is so chilly it's like a scene out of _Frozen_. But as far as Barney's concerned any complications with Blauman are all James's responsibility to iron out; that's why you don't break the Platinum Rule. Barney's only focus is with getting Arthur to extend their investigation.

Unfortunately, just as he suspected, once Arthur learns the Wharmpess file was yet another dead end his boss is ready to call the whole investigation despite the many years put into it. "I respect your perseverance and commitment to the case, but no matter how much you're dedicated to it eventually it's time to shot a lame horse."

Of course there is no way Barney's taking no for an answer and giving up the pursuit that's shaped nearly his entire adult life and he tells Arthur as much. "I am not calling it quits. I can't believe you're even seriously suggesting that. We all know full-well that GNB is overrun with criminals, Greg most of all, and you're just going to let them get away with it?"

"No one's arguing these guys are guilty as hell, but for a case this big to hold up in court we need that one damning piece of evidence that's _irrefutable_. And, I'm sorry, but in eight years you two still haven't found it. I'm starting to think it can't be found."

"It can be and it will be," Barney vows. "I'm going to get you that Woodward and Bernstein level smoking gun. I'll stake my entire career on it. I'm not leaving this office until you agree to another extension."

"Look, it's not that I doubt your abilities. You and Gibbs have provided the department with a whole floor's worth of filing cabinets overflowing with evidence," Arthur gives credit where it's due. "But these people know what they're doing."

"So do I," Barney maintains with unwavering determination.

Luckily, Arthur is the first to blink. "Alright. You've got until the end of the year. After that, it's over. And Stinson, if it's over, the director is coming to _you_ as to why the FBI just wasted nearly a decade on a wild goose chase."

"I understand, sir."

Once they're outside the building and beyond the range of its constant visual and audio surveillance, James is quick to confront his partner. "Are you sure that was the right thing to do back there?"

"What do you mean?" A half a second later Barney realizes exactly what he does mean and his brow furrows as he stops their progress on the sidewalk, turning to look at him in disbelief. "You think we should have called it quits too?" After all the evils of GNB that James has witnessed firsthand it's hard for Barney to imagine he could really mean that, but his silence isn't encouraging.

"No," James finally answers. "Not necessarily. I want to get those bastards as much as you do, but I do think we need to be prepared for the possibility that we can't bring it all in by January. And…." The next part he says cautiously, knowing the firestorm it's bound to incite. "Do you really think it was worth staking your entire professional career on a 10-year-old revenge plot?"

As is Barney's way whenever confronted with harsh realities and painful truths, those familiar protective walls slam into place, a defense mechanism that's by now as natural as breathing. "I wouldn't even have a career if it wasn't for my so-called 'revenge plot'," he answers with biting sarcasm and a touch of genuine sharpness to his tone. Thinking back on just how he did get here, however, all the wind goes out of his sails and he stares down at the flawless shine of his Italian leather shoes, shoes that cost more than the monthly rent of his old Staten Island childhood home. "Not a career with the FBI anyway."

He wouldn't be who he is today without that revenge plot. But somewhere over the years his original intent – sparked by anger, insult, and most of all _pain_ – got all mixed up with the actual humanitarianism and desire to do the right thing he still harbors inside. At his core he's always been a child, then a teenager, and now a man of integrity, compassion, and empathy that it seems even Shannon – and his AWOL dad, and years of being ostracized and bullied, and just life in general – couldn't beat out of him.

"But that's not what this is. Not anymore." Pushing his hands into his pockets, Barney leans back on his heels and looks up at his partner again as he tells him candidly, "You know me, James; we're like brothers. You were there – before and after. You saw it all go down, so there's no point in pretending that it wasn't about Shannon to begin with." He shakes his head as he considers that, a hand going up by impulse to pinch the bridge of his nose, a habit of his in distress as if he can somehow stem the flow of feeling. "No, it wasn't really about Shannon, not even back then. It was about retribution, retaliation, damaged ego. It was about finally getting a little back on all the people who'd screwed me over throughout the years. But it's grown into so much more than that. I mean, yes, I still have a personal stake in this. I can't deny there's still a big part of me that wants to – okay, maybe even _needs_ to – see Greg pay for what he did to me to believe there's still justice in this world. But you're right; it _has_ been ten years. That's a long time by any standard, and it's why a grudge is no longer my only motivating factor. Greg and his kind, those guys have done some horrible things. It's about more than just me now, and you know it."

James nods. "Alright, bro. As long as you're doing this for the right reasons I'm with you one hundred percent."

"Good, cause…." Barney hesitates but ultimately lets his guard down a little more for his oldest friend. "….I don't say this often, but I'm going to need your help."

James slings his arm around him, patting his shoulder in comradery as they continue walking down the street again. "That's what partners are for."

Never one to miss the opportunity for a good ribbing, Barney looks pointedly down at James's arm wrapped around him. "Speaking of another type of _partner_," he good-naturedly harasses, and James shoves him away, knocking him partway across the sidewalk before Barney regains his balance. "Speaking of," Barney laughs, undeterred, "how did it go with Blauman?"

Mention of his ex-lover tempers the grin on James's face, but the jovial mood remains as he replies, "Better than I expected, actually. I explained to him about Tom and we left things as friends. What about you? How'd last night go without me bringing the third heat?"

How did last night go? Well….he only met the hottest girl he's ever seen, one with an incredible mind and personality to match that body, who he soon discovered seems to perfectly fit the concept of a 'kindred soul' custom-made for his that he used to believe in back in his college days. And to top it all off, he's never been so attracted to anyone in his life. After going to sleep last night without any lovin' – other than what he provided himself, while thinking about her – she starred in the erotic dreams that plagued him all night. Barney doesn't cop to any of that though. He merely shrugs, affecting an air of nonchalance. "I got Ted laid, as promised."

"What about you?" James smartly questions. Because when Barney's _not_ bragging about his own exploits it's sure to mean there's a story there.

"There was a girl," Barney eventually admits. The involuntary smile on his lips is instant as he conjures up an image of Robin: her soft, sexy curves on display beneath that figure-hugging green turtle neck and black skirt, those knowing eyes that see everything, the sharp mind that doesn't miss a beat, and those full lips that always seem to be stretched into a coy, teasing smile. "No, not a girl. She's all woman," he smiles appreciatively. "And I'm seeing her again tonight."

Shocked, James gapes at him, his interest definitely piqued now. "Since when does Barney Stinson do repeat performances? On two consecutive nights no less." He shakes his head in astonishment. "She _must_ have been good."

Barney knows James means in bed and he lets out a husky chuckle imagining just that. "I'm sure she's beyond just 'good'."

James puts a hand to Barney's chest, stopping him. "You're sure, but you don't know from personal experience?"

"No," he reluctantly concedes – reluctant both because he wishes he did have that personal knowledge and because the lack thereof damages his irresistible reputation. "Not yet, I should say."

"A woman who's making you wait for it? A rare creature."

"Oh, she wants to sleep with me. Maybe as much as I want to sleep with her even. I can read it all over her. But she wants us to be friends, and she says we can't ruin that with sex."

"And you're _still_ seeing her a second time? Even after the F word? She must really be something," James muses.

"She's pretty amazing," Barney confirms, remembering back to the night before and how he'd tried to brag about perfecting the female orgasm only to have her correctly call him on using one of his plays. Recalling the way she smiled with a mixture of brazenness, cheeky impertinence, and pure excitement at the thought of "running a gambit together" as she put it, he revises, "She's fairly legendary, in fact. That's the thing; I _would_ like to be her friend. You've never met anyone like this woman. You should have seen it. I tried to hit on her. You know, Approach #3?"

"Comment on the drink choice," James nods.

"A dirty martini," Barney elbows him and James laughs wickedly.

"_Perfect_."

"That's what _I_ thought. But she saw right through me. Turns out she'd been watching me all night, keeping track of how I operate. She wanted in on the game, and I wanted her, so I offered to let her in on the magic that is Barney Stinson. I took her to Carmichael's to show her the smurf penis and we ended up talking until last call when they finally kicked us out."

James gasps, clutching his heart. "You spent the night _talking_ with a woman?"

"Don't say it like that," Barney grins. "Come on, I _can_ have a conversation."

"You are an excellent orator. But when you're with a member of the opposite sex you're usually using your oral skills differently."

He snickers. "I offered, believe me. But she wants us to be bros."

"A female bro," James ponders. "Hm."

"I know. It's a revolutionary concept. But she's no ordinary woman." He counts off the tally of things that make her extraordinary. "She isn't looking for love, doesn't believe in relationships, just a good old-fashioned roll in the hay whenever she's in the mood – which as far as I can tell seems to be quite often. And she's smart, clever, funny, sharp as can be. She kept me on my toes all night." And yet he still has a feeling he's only just scratched the surface of her. "She's _awesome_."

"A girl who sees through your b.s. and is still interested in sticking around? Wow. Miracles do happen. Does this awesome woman have a name? Or have you already taught her to use an alias?"

Barney smiles at the little jibe. "Her name's Robin. Robin Scherbatsky. She's a journalist for Metro News One." At James's confused look, he laughs. "I'd never heard of it either. Even using all _our_ contacts I still couldn't find any footage of it online; that's how obscure it is. But she's back to work on Monday and if it's as wonderfully awful as she says it is I'll soon change that."

"Internet stalking already? You must be smitten."

"Just intrigued to have found a bro with a kindred spirt and soul – a broul!"

"A kindred spirit with all those lady parts you love."

"That doesn't hurt," Barney acknowledges with a smirk. "I'm meeting her tonight at MacLaren's. She's going to be my wingwoman," he announces proudly.

"In exchange for….?"

Barney frowns. "I'm supposed to get her laid too," he begrudgingly fesses up. "But I'm hoping to kill two birds, if you know what I'm saying."

Laughing, James raises his hand to hail an approaching cab. "I've gotta go, but good luck, man. Let me know the details on Monday."

"Not tomorrow?" Barney questions in vague disappointment. After brunch with his mom, they always hang together on Sunday afternoons, playing laser tag or going over Barney's latest plays or just having a beer at MacLaren's with the rest of the gang.

"Sorry," James apologizes as the cab pulls up to a stop. "I promised to spend the day with Tom."

Barney shakes his head. "It begins already. One-by-one they fall."

"You will too."

"Psh. Never gonna happen." Sighing deeply, he consoles him with, "At least I've still got Ted."

"And Robin," James shrewdly points out.

"True," Barney nods, adding affectionately, "And Scherbatsky has all the makings of a solid bro to rival any I've had before."

James only grins as he gets into the cab. "Mind the fall, Stinson. Mind the fall," he calls back after him as he closes the door.

Barney knows better, though. James just has romance on the brain because of this whole Tom thing. But _he's_ not falling anywhere. Not unless it's into Robin's bed.


	8. Broda

In preparation for meeting Robin at the bar, Barney already made sure the others won't be there by informing them he'll be executing a new play tonight so disgusting that even they don't want to watch it go down. He tells himself it's because their presence will ruin his and Robin's new wingman/wingwoman game, but the truth is he just doesn't want to share her.

His offer of permanent friendship was sincere; he wants her in his life in _some_ manner even if she won't ever succumb to his charms. That means he's definitely going to bring her into the group at some point….but not _yet_. He's not ready for the distraction Marshall, Lily, and Ted will inevitably cause – Lily by wanting to be besties, Ted by boring her to tears with architecture facts, and Marshall by wanting to bond over the shared childhood experience of growing up in the frozen tundra. Nope. Not gonna happen. Robin's occupied nearly all of his thoughts since he first laid eyes on her and for now anyway he wants her all to himself.

So he lied to the others and showed up at MacLaren's forty-five minutes early just so he won't miss her. He hasn't waited for a woman since Shannon. It's a fact he's acutely aware of as he sits at the bar fiddling with his rocks glass, his thumb tracing its ridges just to have something to do. While he's been waiting he'll occasionally scan the room to check out the talent but his attention has mostly been on the door, awaiting Robin's arrival. And all the while he keeps assuring himself that his impatience to see her is only from the naturally occurring excitement of training a new bro – a female one at that; uncharted territory so his reaction is perfectly explainable.

Clinging to that excuse, he keeps watching the door, and it does Barney good when he sees Robin show up fifteen minutes early herself. He's off his stool the instant he sees her, smiling in greeting, telling himself yet again that the exhilaration he feels as she approaches him is just the anticipation of sex this night will one way or another bring him. After all, that's the purpose of this evening: to get each other laid.

The second Robin walks through the door she feels a little thrill shoot through her seeing Barney's face again, and the body that's attached to it, looking as suavely appealing as he did the night before – in yet another suit, this one navy blue. The color brings out his eyes.

As she reaches his side she can't help noticing too how the crisp white of his shirt makes his skin appear even more tanned. The merest hint of stubble around his mouth tells her that he's a before-bed shaver rather than a morning one. She wonders for a moment if it's enough to be able to feel it on her skin….across her breasts….down her stomach to – And okay, yeah, it has been too long. She really needs to get some.

But _not_ with Barney.

_Focus on the task at hand, Scherbatsky_, she commands herself, ignoring the fact that her inner voice is already starting to sound like him. She's never before referred to herself that way but his nickname for her seems to have stuck.

Sliding onto the bar stool he just vacated, never minding the fact that she stole it from and it's the last one unoccupied, Robin rubs her hands together excitedly. "Alright, let's get to this. I've been waiting all day."

The way Barney moves into her space reminds her of last night, only he's much closer now as he leans against the back of her stool, wedging her between the bar and his body.

"That happy to see me, huh?" he says with that swagger all his own.

He's quite a character; that's something you discover early on in knowing Barney Stinson, and it makes Robin that much more excited to be back sparring with him again. "No," she answers dismissively, however the smile already dancing on her lips severely weakens her denial. "But I'm a journalist; I have a duty to study the fascinating – and your unique brand of crazy falls under that umbrella."

Barney ignores that, his expression all 007 smooth as he pins her with eyes designed to make her feel like the only woman in the world. "It's okay if you are. _I'm_ happy to see you," he seduces, reaching down and intentionally brushing his warm skin across her knee as he plucks her hand from her lap and cradles it between both of his.

Though she sees right through him – has from the very beginning – she's still a woman, he's still a very attractive man, and so it affects her nevertheless. But she shuts it down. She isn't looking to be his sexual plaything, even if the promise of him willingly being _hers_ is all too appealing. What she wants is to be let into the world of fun that is Barney Stinson for more than what would just be one admittedly amazing night.

"Enough of your charm," she retorts, playfully wiggling her hand back out of his grasp. "It's time to deliver what I've been waiting for."

His eyebrow shoots up and his smirk is pure sex as he purposefully mistakes her meaning. "You don't have to ask me twice. My apartment's a twenty-three minute drive, but if that's too long a wait MacLaren's ladies room is always – "

"You never give up do you?" Robin smirks.

"Not without getting what I want."

"Well, not this time."

They lock eyes in an evenly matched battle, neither one giving an inch – and they both feel the charge in the air around them, that current of electricity flowing between them as they stare each other down in a heated mock challenge.

Barney is the first to break. He drops the smooth Lothario act, flashing her a genuine smile. "We'll see…."

"So where is it?" Robin smiles back, because she _has_ been eagerly anticipating this all day. "I want to see this infamous _Playbook_ of yours."

"I didn't bring it."

"What? We're supposed to run a play together," she frowns in disappointment. "I've been looking forward to picking the most insane one."

Barney grins, loving her enthusiasm for adventure and crazy fun that his other friends seem to lack. "And we will. Eventually. I promise I will show you _The Playbook_ someday. But for now, first things first. I need to teach you the most important rules of wingmanning. Think of me as yoda, only instead of being little and green I wear suits and I'm awesome. I'm your broda."

"Okay," she agrees, her lips twitching in amused enjoyment. She's game to go down his rabbit hole into Barneyland. "Have at me."

"I thought we just ruled that out?"

"Ha-ha. These legs remain closed to you, lover boy, and they'll stay that way."

Mention of her rather long and shapely appendages instantly draws his eyes to them. He can just imagine how incredible they'd feel wrapped around his bare waist – or his neck. It doesn't help matters that she's wearing a thin white sundress that he's pretty sure would be see-through in the right light. "I could change your mind," he muses, his eyes still surveying her soft skin.

"And I invite you to keep trying. It'll be fun thinking up new ways to say 'no'."

"Or the best way to say yes…."

"But that would be the 'benefits'. We're still working on the 'friends' part, remember?" Robin smartly replies, teasing him with his very own words.

Barney smiles, ever captivated by her quickness and spirit. "Yes, we are. And with that in mind," he announces, going fully into sage-to-apprentice instructional mode, "Rule Number One, both for wingmen and running plays: Always bring them drinks and keep them coming."

"Getting them drunk," she nods. "Not very creative, but a classic all the same."

Hearing the word 'drinks', the bartender appears and Robin orders a Glen McKenna with no clue that's Barney's favorite brand too.

"A knowledgeable scotch drinker," Barney nods his approval, watching as her Glen McKenna is delivered and she takes a long drink, sighing in contentment at its smoothness. "Your attributes grow by the hour."

"And you've only known me for twenty-four of them. I'm well on my way to becoming the most remarkable person you've ever met. Certainly the hottest," she adds, fluffing her hair confidently.

He chuckles, raising his glass to her. "You _are_ remarkable….but you have this unfortunate habit of turning me down. Which brings us back to Rule Number One. Alcohol lowers inhibitions thereby increasing your chance of scoring."

Robin looks down thoughtfully at her already half-empty glass of scotch. "You're not trying to use your tricks on me, are you, Barney?"

"Never," he swears, all exaggerated innocence that she doesn't for one second believe. But there's a seriousness in his tone as he goes back to their lesson. "A good point to always keep in mind is while you want inhibitions lowered you don't want your target _too_ drunk. I may be a cad but an honorable one; I'd never go home with a woman too drunk to give cognizant consent. And even after consent, throwing up or passing out drunk sex isn't very enjoyable for anyone."

Shooting her a libidinous look that somehow makes him appear even more devilishly attractive, Barney leans in further, about to divulge an important secret. "There's nothing hotter than knowing your partner is into what you're doing – which is why I like my women active, vocal participants."

Robin perfectly calls him dirty look for dirty look and moves in closer to whisper, "Then you'd _love_ me."

He doesn't miss the edge of flirtation in her voice, and in return Barney runs his fingers along the back of her stool, well aware that he's grazing her waist in the process. "Are you a screamer, Scherbatsky?"

"If you're doing it right."

"I always do it right," he promises.

Robin isn't even sure how they got here but somehow they're close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. How does this keep happening with him? It shouldn't be so hard _not_ to have sex with a man….. Except his eyes are holding hers and for a moment she's lost in them, in all the intentions they hold and how _good_ it would feel to just surrender to her answering impulses. But then, as she always does, she remembers herself, masters herself until she's in complete control again. And the first move she makes is back out of his space.

Barney can feel the palpable heat between – he's pretty sure the whole room can – but he also senses her closing back off from him. The thing of it is they _are_ kindred spirits, more than he's brave enough to admit. He recognizes something of himself in her, that need to always maintain your composure; he doesn't let his go easily either, or indeed at all in the past decade. He relates to that need, respects it, so he eases up on the come-ons, taking them back into safer bro territory while at the same time letting her know he understands her better than she thinks. "But here's a little word of advice from Broda. Those drinks? They're not just for the bimbos; you'll need them too."

Robin gives him a questioning look. "Take the edge off the nerves? That surprises me. I wouldn't think a master such as yourself would still have nerves."

"I don't," he indubitably assures her.

She's waiting for some additional rule of scoring, some addendum attached, but it never comes.

"That's not why," he finally answers in a voice much softer and deeper, one she suspects he limits to absolute genuineness. He opens his mouth to add something further but thinks better of it and just shakes his head as if to say 'let it lie'.

Something in the way Barney fidgets ever so slightly gives it away that it just got a bit too unintentionally real for him. That same little something makes Robin think that perhaps what he really means is that _he_ needs to be a bit drunk himself in order to run these plays. But whatever that 'something' signifies, it's there and gone in an instant and then he's flashing her that poised, magnetic, trademark grin once more.

"Wingman Rule Number Two," he continues. "Always scope out the target's face for your bro. They may be a 10 from behind but an uggo from the front. Take for example a typical approach. You're sitting facing the bar," Barney says, boldly taking ahold of her thighs to spin her into just that position, "when I spot you from across the room. Now, sure, from this angle even Pompeii wasn't as smokin'," he lustfully drawls, giving her a through onceover. "But you could still be a complete butterface. That's what's so hard about flying solo without your bro to do a little recon. You're reduced to the blind approach."

Robin just has to laugh. He's a nut, but there's something about him that's impossibly endearing. She turns back around to face him, enjoying that last sip of her scotch before offering a simple suggestion. "Why don't you just look at her reflection in the bar mirror as you walk up to her?"

"You can't just – " Barney starts to object, but his jaw drops open as he looks into the mirror and realizes it's true. "_Wow_." He just gapes from Robin to the mirror and back again. "I never – You're a _genius_."

She shakes her head with an affectionate little eye roll.

Already this is new experience for the both of them, Barney being so impressed by a woman – or a man, or _anyone_ – and Robin being so amused and delighted by him.

"That mirror thing," he persists in his praise. "Simple. Elegant. This is going in my blog tomorrow. Wait until my followers hear about you."

"Me?" she laughs, surprised.

"You've already proven to be an awesome bro. Robin, you're worth writing about. A hot woman with all the right anatomical parts, but underneath she's all dude."

"Hm," Robin ponders. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

"Flattered," Barney answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It was a compliment." He taps her arm as she sets her empty glass down on the bar. "Come on, let's go to a booth."

"Alright. Where do you want to sit?"

He gives her a scoffing look. "Please. I'm Barney Stinson. I _own_ MacLaren's, Scherbatsky. Like I don't have my own personal booth."

"Of course you do."

"Hey, Doug. Two more of these, please," he gestures as he guides her over to what she now knows is apparently _his_ booth.


	9. Show Me Yours

Over at Barney's booth, in addition to their drinks he orders appetizer platters for each of them after learning last night that Robin is adamant about never sharing food. Between bites of potato skins all her own, she tells him, "As long as I'm going to be the star of your next entry, I might as well admit I went home and read your blog."

Impressed, Barney's eyebrow shoots up.

"You're not getting away with showing me just _The Playbook_ – which you _will_ by the way," Robin insists. "Now I want to see _The Bro Code_ too."

"I have leather bound copies of both books back at my apartment."

"Ah, yes. The Fortress of Barnitude."

"You _have_ been reading my blog," he smiles, even further fascinated. That entry detailing his bachelor pad was from over a year ago.

"The whole thing," she nods in confirmation. "Took me hours but it was a real page-turner. Well, webpage-turner."

Robin smiles, amused at her own joke, a reaction that on her Barney finds utterly charming; it's all over the smile he reflexively returns. But he doesn't betray any of that captivation verbally, just tips his head to her complement and replies around a bite of his slider. "It's a legendary read, to be sure."

"The Story of Barney, as you call it, may be engrossing but it's hard to believe," Robin accuses genially. "'_When I tongued the rim of the Liberty Bell_'? Come on, did you really lick the Liberty Bell?" she asks, skeptically.

"You bet I did. It's a funny story." He smirks fondly thinking back on it. "Totally unpremeditated. It derived out of "The Baggage Claim" play."

"What's "The Baggage Claim" play?"

"I'm glad you asked," Barney beams, more than happy to reveal his brilliance. "It goes a little something like this: Step 1, show up at the airport with a suitcase. Step 2, stick said suitcase on the carousel like you've just flown in. Step 3, pretend to be a handsome international businessman just back from a lucrative overseas trip – only in my case there's nothing pretend about the 'handsome' part. Step 4, meet up with some girls who've _actually_ just flown into town looking for a weekend of fun in NYC. The next thing you know, you're back at her hotel room doing things that are illegal in most of the lower 48."

"And this actually works?"

"Yep. I tested it for months. Works 83% of the time."

Robin shakes her head. "I'm so disappointed in my sex."

"Ha-ha," Barney grins. "But _they_ weren't. And that's just the tip of the iceberg." His eyes drift upward as he quickly calls to mind a few of his more successful plays. "There's "The Out-of-Towners" otherwise known as "The We're Not From Here" – because an accent and an innocent smile will get you anything. Plus there's the automatic out that you're leaving in a few days. You can hit it and quit it without even needing to think of an excuse."

"Classy," she teases.

"Then there's one of my favorites, "The Two Can Play At That Game"."

"Do I want to know?"

"My wife is having an affair with your husband and to get back at them together we complete the list I just happened to 'find'," he says with air quotes, "of every deliciously dirty way 'they've'," he winks, "enjoyed each other's bodies."

"And I can just about guess what some of those ways are," Robin quips knowingly.

"You might be surprised," he says in a way that leaves her much too intrigued for her own good. "And last but certainly not least is one of the newer plays I developed over the summer, "The ETR"."

"What's an ETR?"

"Employee Transition Room." Barney puts on his business voice as he prepares to spout GNB rhetoric. "It's a space where a supervisor and an employee engage in a knowledge transfer about an impending vocational paradigm shift."

"So it's basically where you fire people," she rightly deduces.

"Mm-hm. But not before first giving the impression that I could save her position if _she's_ willing to take a certain position, if you know what I'm saying."

"I'm afraid I do." She takes another drink of her scotch before pointing her glass at him in lighthearted reproach. "You do realize that's sexual harassment, right?"

"No. _No_," Barney firmly maintains, the distinction important to him, "it's only sexual harassment if I actually took a sexual favor in exchange for her keeping her job. But I fire them either way," he shrugs. "I just send the lucky ones out with a bang!"

Robin rolls her eyes, smiling as she sets her drink back down. "Somehow I doubt they see it that way." Perhaps she should find his behavior deplorable, but there's just something about him that's too impish, charismatic, and appealing for her to be properly disgusted. The frightening thing is she's actually somewhat begrudgingly impressed. Okay, maybe not by "The ETR"; that one's pretty low. But some of his other plays, strategies, bamboozles, and rules are rather ingenious. And there _is_ a sort of twisted logic in the way he operates that makes it hard for her to feel sorry for any of his "marks". After all, who would accept such an offer? And if you're sleeping your way up the corporate ladder, or getting down and dirty with a guy like Barney who literally just showed up at your door, then you're not exactly an innocent lamb yourself.

Of course there's a flaw in his logic in that his schemes are certifiably crazy and she doubts anyone could pull them off other than him – provided even he is actually doing the things he claims. Although judging by his Pied Piper effect on women she witnessed the night they met, odds are he is telling the truth. "I hate to burst you bubble, Barney, but how exactly is "The ETR" useful to the average guy whom you're supposedly teaching how to live? It only works if you're already a supervisor."

Her lips curve into an amused smile at his momentarily befuddled look, but after only a second he's back to full-on bravado, as audacious as ever as he boldly declares, "A bro has to have something to strife for; that's part of the life lesson."

"Touché." She offers a toast to him and he clinks his glass to hers, watching as she drains most of its contents.

"What about you, Scherbatsky? You like it dirty; we've been over that. You must have had a few exploits of your own."

Robin smiles sassily. "I could swap some stories."

"Such as?" Barney challenges. "I've shown you mine; now it's time to show me yours."

"Alright," she answers gamely, always enticed by competition – and particularly tempted by Barney. "Well, first of all, I'm a hot woman so I don't need plays."

"No, you do not," he wholeheartedly agrees. "You already have all the assets you need to lure a man, starting out with two big ones right there," he murmurs, pointing at her breasts, his eyes lingering on the way her bra pushes her cleavage up to say 'hi' through the low neckline of her dress. Reaching beneath the table to fleetingly brush her leg, he adds, "And here." He brings his hand back up, stretching across the booth to touch his forefinger to her temple. "Surprisingly, here," he says with admiration in his voice. "And the other two you're sitting on."

"Right," she grins in agreement. "So no plays necessary. But I could tell you some naughty stories, a few things I bet even _you've_ never done."

"Try me," Barney says like he doubts it, but Robin notices the way he's sitting just a little more at attention, eyeing her absorbedly.

"Have you ever done it in international territory? _I_ have."

"Where?" he asks raptly. Never mind the fact that with his covert occupation he can get access to all sorts of forbidden places. He's keenly interested in how exactly _she_ did.

"This guy I met from the mayor's office got us clearance into the UN building. We had sex under the desk of the ambassador from Zaire."

"_Under_ the desk?" he tsks. "That doesn't give you much room for creativity."

Robin's smile grows naughtier. "Well, we started out _on_ it, but then the cleaning staff walked in and we had to finish underneath….while they were in the room. The real challenge was being quiet."

"You _do_ like it dirty," Barney says with the utmost respect. "How'd you get out?"

"When we were through I just pulled down my skirt and walked right out of there, head held high."

"Respect high-five!" he proclaims, his voice dripping in regard. Once he's slapped her hand over the length of the table, he acknowledges, "Okay, that was a worthy tale. Now let's talk firsts. Share some more of your bad girl past."

Robin has to laugh at that because her teenage years couldn't have been further from those of a "bad girl" if she tried – and towards the end she _did_; it was part of her rebellion. "Alright. I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she mimics his earlier words.

"Agreed. But you start. With Barney Stinson, ladies always come first," he grins lecherously.

"Yep." Robin nods tauntingly. "I can see now why you need the plays."

"_Moving on_," Barney frowns, but his eyes are twinkling with delight at her wit. "Who was the first to lock lips with Robin Scherbatsky?" he probes. "You strike me as a cougar. Did you corner a six year-old behind the swing set when you were seven?"

"Hardly. My first kiss wasn't until I was fourteen, with a hockey teammate."

Barney's eyes widen in awe. "_Awesome_."

Correctly reading his mind, Robin smiles but has to disappoint him. "_His_ name was Kyle."

"Not a girl?" he pouts.

"Not a girl. I played on an all-boys team." At the odd look he gives her, she simply says, "It's a long story."

"Okay…." he answers, opting to let that go. "Your first kiss was at a disappointingly modest fourteen. What about your first trip to all the bases?"

"Oh, in Canada we use hockey terms. What Kyle and I did was the blue line – just kissing. The red line is getting naked. And 'in the crease' speaks for itself," she winks, with a low sexy laugh.

They think so alike; it's just the kind of joke he would make, and watching her Barney feels his heart do something funny in his chest, a rush of something warm he can't quite define. It momentarily unsettles him but he shakes it off, focusing on his comfort zone instead: the physical. "So when and what was your first 'red line' experience? I want to hear all about your sexual awakening up in the Great White North," he teases.

"Well…." Robin thinks back on it, "my next sexual exploit was with Gordie Bellavoh a year later, although it wasn't technically a red line experience. There was no nudity involved; I just let him go under parka/over turtleneck."

"How prudish of you. When did you finally get naked?"

"That would be with Turk Grimsby."

Barney snorts in disgust. "Your first time was with a guy named _Turk Grimsby_? How does that even – ? 'Oooh, ohhhh'," he imitates a young woman getting off. "'Oh, do me, _Turk_'?" He shudders. "It just doesn't work."

Robin laughs, both at his impression and at the idea that any such scene would have unfolded. "No, it wouldn't have. It wasn't like that. At all. Turk was more a good friend who I happened to go out with a few times. There wasn't much to it. We'd just talk for hours about…you know." She shrugs evasively, never one to voluntarily delve into all the uncomfortable, messy, complicated emotional stuff. "Problems with my mom and family, the normal teenage angst. But I could see he wanted more and I felt bad for stringing him along, plus I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, so I took off my shirt, let him have a few bare squeezes."

"With a name like Turk I'm surprised he didn't squeeze them right off."

"It _felt_ like he was trying." Robin makes a face and Barney chuckles softly.

"After that it's a wonder you bothered giving it another go."

"I knew there had to be something more to it than that." She slants closer to the table, revealing conspiratorially, "I'd stolen a few of my mom's romance novels – more like lady porn. I kept them hidden under my mattress for nightly reading."

"Ahh, Canadian romance novels. Did the syrup princess give up her maple leaf to the strapping sheep shearer's son beside the frozen lake? Or did they just go the clichéd route and do it on a Zamboni?"

"He wasn't the sheep shearer's son," she protests. Barney gives her a leveled look and Robin sighs. "Okay, fine; he was the sheep shearer's apprentice. But you still know nothing about Canada. Having sex beside a frozen lake?" she repeats incredulously. "You can't expose yourself in the cold of a Canadian winter. You'd get frostbite in some very uncomfortable places."

He shakes his head. "Every day you should be thankful you made it out alive."

Robin just rolls her eyes.

"I can picture it perfectly," he goes on dreamily. "You, locked up in your bedroom, getting off by candlelight to the forbidden tales of the maple syrup princess's loss of innocence."

"Barney, we have electricity in Canada. The point is I knew it was meant to be better than that, and I figured eventually someone was bound to get it right."

"And who was that someone?"

"Simon Tremblay."

The way she whispers the guy's name on a sigh makes Barney's gut tighten.

"I was crazy about him."

"Psht, probably some mullet-headed ruffian," he derides.

Her lips twitch in amusement. "Did you just use the term 'ruffian'?"

A twist of embarrassment shoots through him but he meets her eyes squarely as he flatly denies it. "No, I did not."

Smiling, Robin rolls her eyes again, this time accompanied by a shake of her head. "Simon was my first real boyfriend," she continues her story. "He was in a band – lead singer and guitarist," she gushes like a prepubescent fangirl.

Barney groans, muttering, "Revertigo."

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Well, I was sixteen and thought Simon was just _it_, so I decided to take things to the next level. One night when my mom was away and we had the house to ourselves I broke into her liquor cabinet and we shared the most expensive bottle of Johnny Walker. Simon was the first guy I ever got truly smashed with. And…." She grins slyly. "….one thing led to another; we felt each other up on the living room couch."

"Felt each other up?" he echoes in disappointment. "You already said that."

"No." She leans closer, giving him a meaningful look. "_Really_ felt up."

"Ah," Barney nods with a wicked grin. "Your first handie." He clicks his tongue. "Nice."

"Given _and_ received," she explicates.

"Good for you. That's the way I like it. Everybody needs to get theirs. A good time is had by all in a Stinson rendezvous," he promises.

"Maybe, but that wasn't true from the very beginning."

"Yes. It was," he asserts confidently.

Robin shakes her head, entertained though not surprised by his testosterone fueled denial. "No teenage boy is a good lay, Barney. Not even you. He's done in thirty seconds and then the girl is left lying there, cold and unsatisfied."

"Not with me. I swear it. I got the woman off from my very first time." He doesn't even have to exaggerate about that. The surrounding facts may not have been pretty, but Rhonda enthused over how he'd rocked her world. She insisted he was the best sex she'd ever had. Yet, those surrounding facts _are_ mortifying enough that he fudges them a little. "It all goes back to when I was sixteen." Okay, a lot. But there's no way he can tell Robin he was actually twenty-three when he lost his virginity – or that it took the Man Maker to do it. "To that one glorious afternoon back in Staten Island on my mom's kitchen table: the day I learned oral," he declares with the sort of historic reverence one would normally give the signing of the Constitution. "I was a natural, blessed from on high with a supple, lengthy tongue. Especially the tip; it can get right in there."

Barney proudly sticks out his tongue to show her and Robin tries not to be impressed, tries not to think too hard about what he just told her, _definitely_ tries not to picture it – but fails miserably at all three. "_Anyway_," she says, urging him back to his point.

"Her moans woke up my mother, who vowed to 'throw the little hussy out', but a star was born that day and I would continue to shine brightly in the weeks to come. Word soon got around about the events of that afternoon and I became something of a local legend. The girls lined up to experience all I had to offer….in exchange for a little oral performance of their own."

"Ew," Robin frowns. "And you do realize this sounds completely made up, right? But go on. We're still talking about the preliminaries. When did you get to the main event?"

"My skillz – yes, with a z – became so well known that an older woman approached me. Not disgusting old, like, thirty," he clarifies.

"I'm going to ignore that remark for now….."

"She was twenty-two, and beautiful. After I pleasured her – two times over – she let me bring it the rest of the way home. I got her to magic number three and officially discovered my favorite place in the world," Barney worshipfully proclaims, pausing for a moment of veneration before revealing, "the vagina."

"Yep. I had it. Didn't need to spell it out."

"And vajayjays the world over love Lil' Barney too. The force is strong with this one," he says, pointing down to his lap.

A smile dancing on her lips, Robin leans forward, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. "You know, that's the second Star Wars reference you've made tonight. With slipups like that, I'm beginning to think you're a closeted nerd. It's making me start to question the truth of your story – well, that and the fact that it sounds like it came straight from the pages of some cheesy Penthouse forum."

"Scherbatsky, Scherbatsky, Scherbatsky," he smoothly drawls, letting the toe of his shoe play over her bare ankle, "they don't call me Broda for nothing. Whose life do you think Penthouse based their stories on?"

And it's then, when he's mock-scolding her and the spark between them is electric, that Barney loses the battle he's been fighting and his eyes drift down to openly ogle her cleavage – because leaning forward at this angle her left breast has practically popped out of her dress.

Seeing where he's looking, Robin realizes her mistake and straightens in a flash, flattening her spine against the back of the booth. Even no longer exposed she can still feel the tingle on her skin where his eyes were hot and hungry on her and it makes her squirm slightly against the red vinyl, crossing her legs firmly to remind herself that territory is off-limits to one Barney Stinson.

"But wait, what about you?" Barney remembers. "We left off at the red line. Who was the first to get in your crease? Based on what you said earlier, I'm guessing it wasn't good for you."

Robin's never been one to be shy about matters of sexuality, and remembering her disastrous first time is actually a welcome distraction right about now. "I thought Simon would be my first. I felt more than ready by that point," she divulges. "But we broke up. My next boyfriend after that was Brian. I liked to imagine we were 'in love'. Turns out he was gay."

Barney's brow wrinkles in confusion. "But you still lost your virginity to him?"

"More or less."

"What does _that_ mean?" he snickers.

"How to put this delicately," Robin wonders aloud. "Well, he didn't dive all the way into the pool, but he splashed around in the shallow end."

Barney smirks at that. "So who was the first to dive in your pool then? Who was the first to make some waves? Who gave you your first 'O Canada' face?"

"Two years later was the first diver, but it wasn't until I was nineteen that a guy actually managed to set off the whirlpool, so to speak."

"You poor girl."

Robin shrugs. "I was in Canada, and a natural born sex god such as yourself was all the way in New York. What was a girl to do?"

He tilts his head in apology. "Keep reading those romance novels, I suppose."

"I did. Better yet, I got myself a little battery operated friend." It gave a whole new meaning to her 'robot sidekick'.

"Robin, for you I would have flown all the way up to no man's land just to show you how to use it – and then we would have used the one attached to me."

"Pity we didn't know each other back then, isn't it?" she teases.

His gaze captures hers intently. "But we know each other now."

Robin feels that inconvenient attraction again – and she's really growing to hate that she loves the way he makes her feel. But regardless of whatever her libido might be saying, she knows she has to put him in his place, quickly. With a guy like Barney Stinson if you don't watch yourself he'll soon be diving all the way into your pool. "Oh, I've long since figured out how to use it, thanks. And," she drolly preempts, cutting his innuendo off at both ends, "we are never going to 'know' each other in the sense you're thinking, so just get all those ideas out of your head, Barney."

The truth is he'd been one hundred percent messing with her, but her reaction is a goldmine. And he hasn't missed how fidgety she's been ever since she caught him staring at her boobs. "What? Because I said we know each other now? That was just a simple observation on the fortuitousness of our newfound friendship, our wingman/wingwoman arrangement and all the success it will yield. I didn't make any suggestions about the two of us, off-color or otherwise."

Robin's expression turns alarmed as she realizes he's right. He never suggested they should have sex now; that was all her. "Huh. I could've sworn you did."

Barney knows he's got her and delights in reeling her in. How can it be _this_ much fun playing around with a woman fully clothed? "If any sexual ideas about you and I are floating around this booth, are you sure they didn't come from you?"

"Absolutely not," she lies through her teeth. Except, is it truly a lie if you sincerely mean it….from this point on? The idea may have cropped up in her mind, yes, but she has no intention of ever acting on it. "Bros don't have sex with other bros," she resolutely adjoins, half to him and half to herself.

"Hasn't happened yet," he concedes, "though the Bro Code doesn't really cover that…..It's a shame too. From the view I just got, I'd love to see more. Too bad you don't have an equally hot twin." He waggles his eyebrows. "I could be bros with you and hos with her."

"No, no twin. I'm one of a kind."

"Yes, you are," Barney concurs, letting his eyes lustfully drift over her one last time before reining it back in. "Maybe in another nineteen years," he says wistfully. "I can wait for a daughter if I can't have the mother."

"Good luck with that," she scoffs, running her finger around the rim of her glance. "As long as we're on this subject, are there any others of you I should know about?"

"Kids?" he asks in disgust. "_Please_."

"I meant brothers, but I got it loud and clear: doesn't want kids."

"I know," he sighs resigned. "Go ahead and tell me: I'm a monster; how can I not want kids? I've heard it all before."

"Actually," Robin interrupts, her hand sliding down her glass to rest on the tabletop, "I don't want kids either." He blinks in pleasant surprise. "I mean this needy, crying thing totally dependent on me? No, thank you."

"Right?!"

"And don't even get me started on a baby's soft spot. A self-destruct button right out in the open like that? That is _terrifying_."

"Scherbatsky," Barney smiles, "you keep getting more and more awesome the longer I know you – and your awesome quotient was already shockingly high. Are you sure you weren't born a guy?"

She laughs bitterly. "I'm sure. Though my life would have been a whole lot easier if that were true."

He doesn't know exactly how, but he senses he's unwittingly hit on a sensitive subject and responds gently. "I didn't really mean it." Wanting to make her smile again, he adds genuinely, "No matter how far science has come, it could never replicate all of that." He waves a hand over her body and it results in a soft little giggle from her like he'd hoped.

"All of what?" Robin questions, her smile remaining.

"Your shiny hair," Barney answers, his eyes going there. "And your boob-shaped boobs."

His avid gaze sweeping over them is so palpable it makes her nipples harden and stand at attention, a fact he immediately notices.

He reaches across the tabletop, slowly moving his hand closer and closer to hers until their fingers are just touching. "The softness of your skin….."

He begins stroking the side of her pinkie with his, a rather innocent touch that shouldn't feel half as sexy as it does. And it's because she wants him touching her elsewhere – _everywhere_ – so very badly that Robin moves her hand away, back onto her glass. Picking it up, she finishes off her scotch. The burn in the back of her throat is grounding; it's the next best thing to a cold shower.

Watching her, Barney follows suit, draining the rest of his drink too and dropping the empty glass back down to the table with a loud kerplunk. "Nineteen, huh?" he ponders aloud, shaking his head.

"You're still on that?" she laughs.

"How can I not be? It's tragic!" he says with overemphasized dismay. "A whole _year_ of wasted sex with no pleasure for you. You need to make up for that."

"I have been," she assures him.

His eyes turn soft and persuasive, his expression all alluring charm. "You need somebody who really knows what he's doing, someone who can give you two to one – at least."

She knows full-well that he's purposefully turned on the charisma. She knows it, and yet that doesn't make her immune to it. Especially not when it's been so long and her body is this amped up – which is the whole reason they're here. "Isn't that what tonight's all about? You're supposed to be finding him for me," she reminds him.

"Finding?" he dismisses. "You don't need to look any further. I'm the man for the job."

And there it is. "Yeah," she answers, amused that she called him so accurately, "but we've already established numerous times that's never going to happen."

"So _you_ say. For now," he adds meaningfully.

"Yes, I do say," she persists.

"Fair enough," Barney grins. "But the Barnacle may still have a chance at it….The night is young."

"You keep telling yourself that," Robin playfully taunts just as Barney reaches back across the table toward her. Expecting further touches from him, her hand freezes. Her whole body goes still in anticipation. But Barney only takes ahold of her glass.

She inwardly curses the sharp ping of disappointment.

Her hope is that he didn't notice her reaction, but that hope is immediately dashed by the self-assured, sexy smirk he's now wearing. "And you keep telling yourself you don't want to." The accompanying look he gives her positively sizzles.

Robin tries her best not to respond but she's fooling no one, lest of all herself. She narrows her eyes at him warningly, a look that's seriously compromised since she's simultaneously smiling in delight.

"Sex is being had tonight," Barney reiterates. "For both of us."

"That we can agree on," she nods.

He shoots her a devastating smile, pushing himself up from the booth and sweeping their scotch tumblers along with him. "But it's not going to happen with an empty glass," he says cleverly, heading to the bar to get them another round.

Robin eyes him from her side of the booth, auspiciously facing the bar. Luckily it's calm enough in MacLaren's tonight for her to be able to not only see him but just barely register pieces of the conversation he's having with Doug.

When she overhears Barney ask him where Wendy is tonight, Robin feels a stab of jealousy shoot through her. Which makes no sense at all when they're so not together and are here to find _other_ people to have sex with. Before she can get too angry at herself over that, the next part grabs her attention.

"Her sister's in the hospital again," Doug explains, turning to grab Barney's preferred bottle of scotch off the shelf behind him. "Another bad asthma attack. Don't know how they're gonna pay for it. She really needed this double shift tonight, but you can't be at two places at once, you know? She'll be back for her regular Sunday shift though."

Robin watches in astonishment as Barney instantly whips out his checkbook, writing off a check in ten seconds flat. "Gives this to her when you see her tomorrow," he says, ripping it off and handing the check to Doug.

"Whoa. $5000? Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. And make her take it. I owe her at least that much in tips over the years."

While Barney waits for Doug to pour their drinks, Robin mulls over what she's just witnessed. Handing out a $5000 check to a waitress like it's nothing? Come to think of it, he's been paying for _her_ drinks all night, her food too. And he did yesterday. He must have money; that much is obvious. But he's also very generous with it and clearly cares about people much more than he admits.

She's increasingly getting the sense that there's far more to Barney than he lets on, more than he ever wants anyone to know. The question is, why? And she's going to find out.

She just won't let herself examine too closely why she's so interested.

It would be much easier if he wasn't so charming, if he was one-dimensional, just the blatant unrepentant womanizer she thought of him at first glance. But she suspects he's not that at all.

….And he just _gets_ her. And, honestly, she's never enjoyed anyone's company more. And….and –

And that's precisely what makes him so dangerous….but at the same time _so_ desirable.

That's a problem for Future Robin, however. Or, really, not a problem at all because nothing is ever going to come of it. She's going to drink that scotch, further her bro-lationship with Barney, and then get herself laid by some stranger.

In the meantime, she'll let Barney keep his secrets for tonight. She understands that need to keep things – your past, your feelings, your heart – under lock and key. After all, he's not the only one with walls up. Hers are made of granite; no one's getting past.


	10. Diversionary Tactics

Each nursing another drink, Robin and Barney have been at the bar for well over two hours now without even once attempting to talk to anyone else, let alone pick someone up. They've been enjoying each other's company so much that neither one is in any hurry to call it and find their easy sex for the night.

But as the night's worn on, Barney's drifted back to openly flirt with her again and it's starting to make Robin feel unsettled and jumpy. She wasn't lying about what she said that first night; she genuinely wants to further this friendship with Barney. She likes him way too much to lose him over a night or two – or three, or four – of sex. The truth is sometimes she _does_ have trouble bonding with people, and it makes this connection she has with him too good to pass up. She doesn't have many friends in this city. None at all besides Patrice, and she only ever sees Patrice at work so that probably doesn't count to most people as a true and deep friendship. She hasn't had an honest to goodness best friend since Jessica, and even Jessica could never fully understand what makes her tick in the way that Barney already seems to.

But Barney being a man makes things problematic.

Flirting is just flirting, and he's _good_ at it. It's not like he's being aggressive or making her uncomfortable, just the opposite. She's having a great time with him, the most fun she's had in ages, and she's no babe in the woods. She knows the score. She knows that flirting for a guy like Barney is second nature when around an attractive woman. It's just what he does. She's not naïve enough to think anything of it. And, hey, flirtation – even unwelcome flirtation, which is far from the case here – is always flattering. Robin wouldn't mind at all.

Except that _Barney's_ flirtation does something to her, quite inconveniently. It makes her want him. More to the point, it makes her want to actually take him up on all that he's so skillfully dancing around. And it's because of that overwhelming willingness to act on it that she shuts it down before she does something stupid.

Taking a quick scan of the room, she interrupts him midsentence. "Hello! Target acquired. Hottie by the jukebox." He was in the middle of a hilariously dirty joke that she really would've liked to hear the punchline to, but she's too worked up right now to trust herself to sit through till the end without jumping him. Which is the whole problem of being friends with Barney, but it's a problem she believes she can significantly mitigate once her body's not so in need, once she's worked off this pent-up lust – with someone else. And she will before the night is through. But first she needs to get _him_ preoccupied and no longer a distraction for her.

Barney looks over to where she indicated; it's an automatic reaction. But he was so focused on Robin and what she was saying that it takes a moment for his mind to catch up. When it does, he's flooded with an involuntary wave of disappointment. He doesn't want to go hit on that girl. He doesn't want to hit on any of these girls. He wants to stay right where he is, with her. "Hmm," he observes noncommittally. "She _is_ a 7. But there's no need to be hasty. We've got three hours till closing time. An 8 or a 9 could still walk in."

He's right; he could do better, but Robin's not about to be deterred. She's in dire straits here, and if he's focused on having sex with that woman then _she_ won't be so tempted to have sex with him. "Oh, come on, Barney. I can see from over here she has a tongue ring. That's got to bring her up to at least an 8."

"Maybe. Although – " he starts to protest, but she's already off and running. "Robin, wait." He stands up beside the booth just in time to catch her arm.

"I know, I know," she smiles. "You're worried I'll mess up your game." A bit insulting, but at least she's already got his attention diverted. She figured it wouldn't take much – yet another reason why she won't be sleeping with him. "I may not have seen your _Playbook_ yet, but trust me." She places her hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks. He glances down to her hand, then back up at her face, and she promises, "I've got this one. Prepare to be impressed."

She saunters over to the jukebox and Barney vaguely hears her remark "Oh, my God! I love your jeans!" to the 7. But mostly he's just standing there befuddled.

He wants Robin. He knows that. He's already explicitly and quite graphically pictured the top five ways in which he wants Robin. So it only makes sense that when she touched him he would feel lust. And he did. Her fingers over his pec even through his shirt and suit coat sent a surge of heat straight to his groin. That was to be expected.

But the way his heart turned over – he swears it skipped a beat – has left him nonplussed. That his heart would do _anything_ is disconcerting, but when a hot woman is touching him in even a remotely sexual way the only thing that should be jumping to attention is Lil' Barney, making what he just experienced all the more troubling.

Before that can sink in, Robin and the 7 turn toward him and he hurriedly shakes off the sensation. Putting on his game face, Barney smiles and nods confidently over at the 7, and only a minute later Robin is walking back over with a smug smirk on her face.

She brushes off her hands. "The deed is done. Well, my part of it anyway," Robin adds, her expression amused.

Her laughter is contagious and he smiles along too even as he just has to know: "What'd you say to her?"

"Just that you're the only hot guy in here but that you're playing hard to get. That's like catnip to women," she informs him.

"Huh," Barney ponders, making a mental note of that. "See, this is how it's gonna help to have a bro who's also a chick."

"Mm-hm." She proudly nods her agreement. "And then I said _the_ most notorious female fighting words."

He looks at her in rapt curiosity and she pauses to draw out the suspense in dramatic storytelling that rivals even his own before finally revealing, "'_I'm_ going home with him'. That's the girl equivalent of saying, 'I'm hotter than you'. It's a woman's version of a testosterone thing – an estrogen thing, I guess? I don't know. The point is she'd leave with you now even if you were hideous just to prove that you'd pick her over me. She's on your hook. All you have to do is reel her in."

Barney glances back over at the 7, who winks at him, and he weighs his options, coming up empty. He doesn't get to have Robin so he might as well take the sex that's readily available. He starts to walk over toward the girl when Robin abruptly stops him. "Not so fast, Stinson. What about someone for me?"

He frowns down at her. "We're still doing that?"

"Yes, we're still doing that. You can't renege now."

"Fine," he sulks. Scoping out the bar, he nudges her. "Okay, I've got someone for you, Scherbatsky. Two o'clock, blue shirt."

Excited, she looks over to where he indicated and her expression goes flat. "Barney, that's a woman."

"Oh, my mistake," he says innocently but turns eyes on her that are anything but. "Or is it?" he sniggers evilly.

"Make all the lesbian jokes you want. I'm all about the dudes and you know it – and you're going to get me one. You're not getting out of this." Barney glowers but she ignores him, casting an eye about the room herself. "How about the guy over in the corner?"

"_That_ guy?" he sputters in disgust. She picked the biggest, buffest guy in the bar, three times his size but wearing a New York Rangers t-shirt – a _t-shirt_ in a bar – about five times too tight, and likely without two brain cells to rub together.

"I told you I like hockey players."

"Just because a guy is brawny, Robin, doesn't mean he knows what he's doing in bed. Hockey player's probably gotten punched in the head so many times all he knows about sex is put tab A into slot B," he mutters scathingly.

"So what you're saying is bankers do it better?" Robin harasses, her eyes dancing. "Is that the line you're gonna use on her? Cause I'm pretty sure that won't work. Although she does look desperate."

"I'm _not_ a banker," Barney sighs.

"But you work for GNB," she neatly points out.

"If you must know, I'm a financial and data analyst."

"Like I said, a banker."

"I'm in upper management," he whines in his defense. "It's not like I'm a teller. And you know, being a numbers man has its benefits. It can be a very erotic skill."

"Really?" she queries, obviously not believing him.

"Absolutely," he assures her. "You see, I do a lot of work in encryption, algorithms, and statistics. Enough to know that I'm the best sex this bar has to offer. I'll throw a few figures your way: my natural born talent, multiplied by my knowledge of women, added to my years of 'field research' all mean that I'm able to give 83% of women an orgasm within the first minute – using only one hand." Barney leans in closer to her, smiling suggestively. "So you can just imagine what I can do given the whole night and with my entire body in play."

She shouldn't be turned on – he's probably lying, maybe – but she is. "That sounds like exactly what I need," Robin murmurs, more to herself than to him, as she envisions her bare back against silken sheets and a hard, distinctly male body against her front.

Barney's hand lands at the small of her back as he downs the rest of his drink. "_Awesome_."

"Sex," she reminds him of their purpose.

"Absolutely," he readily agrees, dropping the empty glass like lead onto the tabletop and starting to steer her toward the exit.

"With _another_ guy." Robin rolls her eyes, laughing. "The one in the corner. Remember?"

"Right, right," he recovers quickly. "Because you and I doing any of the things I just pictured would have been a thorough violation of the Bro Code."

She nods her agreement, eyeing the Neanderthal in the corner…..and Barney _really_ isn't ready to set her up with that meathead. Won't be ready. Ever. He's left with only one choice: distraction tactics. Too bad she's so against fireballs in the bar. "Speaking of the Bro Code, Article 51 clearly states that when a bro – "

"I'd love to hear about that," Robin cuts in. "Next time. Right now: sex, me, that guy over there. Which play is it going to be?" she wonders, full of enthusiasm to try her hand at his game.

It puts him in mind of himself at the beginning, back when thinking up and trying out new plays was still a novelty. "Okay," he agrees, finally on board. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."

"Alright, let's go," she says, taking his arm and tugging him in the meathead's direction.

"Not so fast, Scherbatsky," he mimics her earlier words. "I admire your gusto, but you can't just charge in half-cocked. He-he, cock," Barney snickers, elbowing her.

"Wow," she laughs despite herself.

"We first have to determine the right play," he continues, back to business. "Are you looking to see this guy again?"

Robin shakes her head vehemently. "No relationship. We've been over that."

Now it's Barney's turn to roll his eyes. "Who said anything about a 'relationship'? Eck," he gags just repeating the word. "I said 'see' him again, as in see him _naked_."

"I'm not even looking for that. The assumption is that guys aren't as clingy as women, but that's not always true. In my experience even guys make it too complicated and end up wanting a commitment from me. I just want sex." She lifts her hand for a high five that he instantly gives, a broad grin on his face. "I'm only looking for a one-nighter."

"Alright. So you're after sex one time."

Robin's eyes brighten, her lips stretching into a cheeky smirk. "One _night_, not one time. If he wants to play with Robin Scherbatsky I'd like him to be able to go more than once. Cause when mama gets hungry she has a big appetite; I want to go all night."

"A woman after my own heart," Barney winks at her.

She lets out a sarcastic huff of laughter. "If I were after that, you'd already be halfway out my window by now."

"Uh-uh. I'm only out the window _after_ the sex – _right_ after, but still after – and you and I haven't had sex. Yet," he pertly affixes. "If we had, you'd be looking flushed and satisfied right now instead of horny, on edge, and grumpy."

"Yeah, yeah, so you say," she smiles. "I'm gonna let the guy in the corner take a bang at it."

"Fine." Barney smoothes out his jacket. "Wait here. I'll go wing you out," he says, heading off toward Robin's would-be conquest in the corner.

And he's back just as quickly as Robin was back from setting up the 7.

"You're my cousin," Barney informs her upon his return, "in town for a visit and looking for a good time. But, unfortunately, you'll never see each again since you're leaving tomorrow on a dangerous assignment." He makes a face, shaking his head at her hockey guy's gullibility. "It seems you have a taste for the dumb ones too, Scherbatsky."

"They don't ask as many questions," she shrugs.

Barney grins. "You ready to do this?"

"Let's do this!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Robin and Barney are both successfully chatting up their marks. But before they close the deal, taking their one-night stands home, they glance at each other across the bar and can see they're each thinking the same thing.

Excusing themselves to the bathroom, with a shared wink they first slip inside their respective rooms for appearances sake before meeting back up a couple minutes later in the alcove outside the restrooms.

"This guy is eating out of the palm of my hand, and no worries about clinginess afterwards because he totally buys that I'm leaving the country first thing tomorrow morning. Barney, you are a master at this!" Robin applauds.

"Of course I am. You've read my blog."

"I'm sorry I ever doubted."

"You should be. I never exaggerate in matters of wingmaning – or sexual prowess," Barney adds with a click of his tongue. "I'm exactly as good as I claim."

"_No one's_ as good as you claim," she laughs.

"_I_ am." He holds her gaze evocatively…..and that heat is back, sexual tension charging the space between.

It's tempting, tempting enough that Robin's eyes catch on his mouth for a moment before she catches herself. She clears her throat, rubbing her hand over her neck absently. "But there's no way I can ever confirm or deny, since you and I will _never_…."

"Ride the F train together? Never say never, Robin." In a heartbeat he's inched into her space, his body nearly touching hers – and the worst part is her own hand has betrayed her, somehow finding its way over to his lapel. "It's not too late. I'll send the 7 packing." Barney brushes her fingers aside, using his own to stroke over her neck, his thumb tracing the hollow of her throat. He can tell she likes it, can see that it's affecting her, and he moves his free hand low onto her hip edging her even closer. "In three minutes we could be in the back of a cab and I'll show you that hand trick….and in another twenty we'll be back at my apartment where I'll taste every inch of you."

A soft little sound escapes her, part sigh and part moan. "Barney, we can't. I like this friendship we've got going, and we both just said the people we have sex with we don't see again….I want to see you again," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

The way she said it, all soft and sweet – almost shy – has Barney's heart doing internal gymnastics again, and though he misses the sex they could be having his predominate feeling is just plain happiness that she wants to continue to see him. "Alright, Scherbatsky," he smiles, easing back out of her space. "Enjoy your piece of meat. But just know; I would have been better."

"And you enjoy Blondie over there too – as long as you know that _I_ would have been better."

"Oh, there's no doubt in my mind," Barney assures her, his eyes tracking over her figure.

Robin knows he's mentally undressing her but she can't really fault him when she's doing the exact same thing. "Call me. We should do this again. Further hone my wingwoman skills and all that."

"We make a great team, you and I." Barney's eyes spark animatedly. "Which gives me a legendary idea! What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Apparently something insane with you," she smiles, tugging the knot of his tie. "Text me the details." It's then that she sees the others eyeing them suspiciously, and she takes a further step back away from him. "I gotta go." She nods over to their 'dates'. "The natives are getting restless."

Barney spares the others a half-second glance before his eyes are back on her. "And you wouldn't want to miss your chance to get well-laid. Although, really, you already missed it since you're not going home with me," he mischievously affixes.

"See you tomorrow, Barney," Robin grins.


	11. Bro Bonding

Late Sunday afternoon, Robin is waiting outside her building when a town car pulls to a stop at the curb and Barney gets out, characteristically clad in a suit and devilish expression. On the phone earlier this morning she'd reluctantly agreed to give him her address – but _not_ her apartment number. Suspicions of finding some way to surreptitiously use her place as a bang pad still hold firm.

Barney, for his part, doesn't mind in the least that she remains close-lipped about her apartment. It actually makes him like her all the more. Unbeknownst to her, he could easily find out where she lives through his government contacts anyway if he really wanted to, but he's not going to do that with Robin. He'll let _her_ tell him. She will eventually; he has no doubt of that.

After waiting for her to get into the car ahead of him, Barney slides in next to her and nods his head toward the front seat. "Robin, this is my driver, Ranjit."

An older Iranian man with salt and pepper hair swivels around in the driver's seat and cheerily greets her. "Hellooo!"

"Um, hi," Robin smiles to him in return; it's impossible not to. Blinking, she turns to Barney. "You have a driver? Like, not a service you hire from time to time but your own personal driver?"

The truth is Ranjit provided the CIA and homeland security with some useful information in exchange for U.S. citizenship. He's been working for the agency for the past ten plus years. That's how Barney met him and convinced Ranjit to become something of a personal assistant on the side, available to him any time of the day or night beyond strictly business matters, for which Barney pays him handsomely. It's worked out to be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both men, and over the years they've grown to be on genuinely friendly terms. But, naturally, Barney has to fudge those details a little.

"Yeah, it's an awesome story," he smiles. "I needed a driver for a business meeting, they sent Ranjit, and he turned out to be such a worthy bro that – "

"Meaning he helped you evade a disgruntled one-night stand," Robin guesses.

"Something like that; he got me out of there, that's for sure," Barney leaves it at that. "And our collaboration has continued to this day."

"Hmm, well, it's nice to meet you, Ranjit," she addresses the older man. Then her eyes flit to Barney's for one amused second before settling back on his driver. "I bet the things you know about Barney would shock and appall."

"اگر او راه خود را شما او را بیشتر می دانم," Ranjit slyly tells her in Persian. And in case that wasn't clear enough, he adds, "داشتن رابطه جنسی با شما او می خواهد."

"Ahp, ahp, just keep your eyes on the road, Ranjit," Barney interrupts him, adding under his breath, "Bro, be cool."

Robin shoots Barney a playfully dubious look, knowing from their exchange that Ranjit must have said something revealing about him – most likely concerning _her_ – but it comes as no surprise that Barney has wayward intentions. The more shocking revelation is that he apparently speaks Persian.

"_Anyway_, moving on." Barney clears his throat as Ranjit pulls out into traffic. "So…." He turns his examining gaze on Robin. "….how was last night? How hard did my wingman skills rock you on a scale from 1 to 10?"

"Really? We're really gonna do this?" she responds skeptically. She hadn't expected him to want an actual play-by-play.

"Why _wouldn't_ we?" Barney retorts, unfazed. "It's an integral aspect of the wingman relationship. This is the part where, as bros, we reach full psychitude by bragging about our stellar conquests the night before."

"Well, if it's in the Bro Code…." she teases. But, come to think of it, she really doesn't have anything to hide. "Alright, I can do that."

Barney grins salaciously. "So what happened after you left with the Brawny Man? You're hot as all hell, a definite closer. Therefore I've no doubt you made it back to your place."

"His place," she corrects. "This was not the kind you bring home."

"Scherbatsky," he exclaims, his tone laden with admiration. "You've got mad respect points already. But how were _his_ moves? Once you got back to his place did he, shall we say, go deep-sea diving?"

Robin smirks at the continued use of her phrase from the night before. "Like freakin' Jacques Cousteau."

Her words, coupled with that gratified, pleased little look on her face, leave Barney suddenly discovering the very real 'why wouldn't we' of doing a play-by-play with Robin. He knew she was going to have sex with the guy; he expected it. And he's all for free sex; everyone should get theirs, that's what he always says. He only wished she was getting hers with _him_. Still, he hadn't expected it to bother him so much, the thought of that moronic caveman with his hands, and decidedly more intimate parts, all over her.

Nonetheless, Barney immediately pushes it down, buries it and covers well, responding as he's expected to – by himself most of all. "_Niiice_. But, more importantly, did he have your hoo-ha singing your national anthem?"

"What?" Robin laughs, dumbfounded.

"You know, did he give you an 'O Canada' face?"

"Oh." The corner of her mouth tilts upward into that little smirk again as realization dawns. "Let's just say he got the job done."

A flicker of jealousy returns, overriding Barney's defenses and leaving him feeling deflated, but he manages a silent nod.

"Not that he was anything to write home about," she expounds. "Too pedestrian for my taste."

Her less than stellar review instantly perks Barney back up.

"But I'll be honest with you, it had been a while."

"I knew it! I could tell you were starved for meat!" he congratulates himself. His skill of being able to tell exactly how long it's been for a woman has repeatedly proven invaluable. He can then in turn use that vital knowledge to estimate a woman's desperation level and consequently know which play to use.

"_Famished_," Robin admits. "By last night, I was so in need I think even poor Brain's shallow end splashing could have gotten the job done."

Barney laughs at that. "Messy exit?"

She shakes her head no. "I cut out while he was sleeping."

"If only all my other students could be as advanced as you," he grins at her proudly.

"Then you wouldn't have anyone left to teach how to life."

"And the world would be a better place."

"But a place where you'd have a lot more competition," she points out. Before Barney can answer to that, she turns the tables on him. Because there's a part of her that for some reason she really doesn't want to get to the bottom of she just has to know. "What about you? How was Legally Blonde?"

"Much like ol' Brawny, nothing special." His expression turns lascivious. "But she let me knock at the backdoor, if you know what I'm sayin'," he adjoins, elbowing her for added effect. "_And_ welcomed me in the front again this morning, so I can't complain."

"You stayed over?" Robin asks in surprise. "Doesn't that go against everything you believe in?"

"She bore all the markings of a girl who likes it in the morning. To begin with, she had a tongue ring. Girls with tongue rings are usually down for just about anything. But there were other, more specific signs." He takes a deep breath, preparing to launch into one of his lengthy theory. "Sign Number 1 – "

"I didn't ask for an itemized list," she preempts, but to no avail.

He just ignores her, launching into his list anyway. " – perkiness. If a lady's perky even _without_ the benefits of caffeine, you can bet she won't say no to a little morning action. Sign Number 2, she got up to use the bathroom before she went to sleep, leaving her bladder nice and empty for a sunrise romp. Sign Numbers 3 and 4, while she was up she put a bottle of water and mints within reach on her nightstand to keep morning breath from being a mood-killer. And if there was any remaining doubt – which there wasn't – Sign Number 5, she also left a couple more condoms out alongside them, all ready to go so _we_ could come at dawn's early light."

"What is it with you and patriotically-based sexual euphemisms?"

Barney only grins. "It all adds up to a 7 who likes to get down in the a.m.. I wasn't gonna pass that up. Besides, I had a firm exit strategy already in place."

"And what was that?" she questions, already certain the answer will be outrageous.

"Early morning test flight. Never fails," he nods, chuckling wickedly. "Got to dive in deep two more times and still was out of there by 8. Although, does it count as deep sea diving if the second time was in her mout – "

"Okay, that's enough sharing." Robin makes a face as she changes the subject. "How about you tell me where we're going?"

"Yeah that reminds me, kudos to you, Scherbatsky, for agreeing to meet me without even knowing the plans."

"I was feeling generous," she shrugs. "A manmade orgasm will do that to a girl." The truth is she just wanted to spend another day broing out with Barney, so much so that she really didn't care what they'd be doing.

"Well, your faith in me is about to be rewarded because we are going to – wait for it – " Barney raises his hand in the air for increased dramatic effect. " – the best laser tag arena in all of New York City!"

"The _best_ laser tag arena?" She's shocked to know there are any at all.

"Okay," he relents a bit more dispiritedly, "so it happens to be the only one, but that's neither here nor there."

"Wow," Robin replies, her mouth curving into a fond smile. "I had no idea laser tag still existed. I thought all those places closed in the 90s." She used to love laser tag growing up. It was one of the few activities she enjoyed on her own that her father actually approved of.

"Not only does it still exist, _I've_ won every single Semi-Annual Laser Tag Tournament for nine out of the past ten years," he boasts.

"What happened the one year?"

Barney scowls. "They tried banning any participants over twenty-one. Bunch of whiny babies and their coddling parents, jealous of my success," he mutters. "But it didn't last long. I sicced my lawyers on them – it was a clear violation of discrimination laws; ageism, look it up, it's a thing – and had it overturned by the next year's tournament. But hey, wait a minute," he frowns at her, "I thought you said you read my blog? I know I've talked about laser tag."

"You did, but I thought you meant it ironically, like some kind of metaphor."

"There is nothing ironic about laser tag, which you'll soon see," he scoffs. "It's a true gentleman's sport, and a testing ground for bros everywhere."

Robin smiles, tickled at the way he's taken offense at any perceived umbrage toward his beloved game. "I'm not knocking laser tag. I used to love it as a kid. But how exactly is it a training ground for bros?" A thought occurs to her and she huffs out a weary sigh. "Don't tell me you pick up the kids' parents? Cause I am _not_ okay cozying up to a kid, no matter how great the sex with its dad may be."

"Please," Barney shudders. "I'm not saying I haven't banged a mom a time or two, even a friend's mom – that's a funny story, actually…." He gets sidetracked, but at Robin's impatiently raised eyebrow he brings it back around to topic. "No, we don't pick up the parents. There are no pick-ups happening at all. Laser tag is just _awesome_! And it's a great bonding experience for potential bros. It shows how well you can work together and if this will amount to a satisfactory wingman relationship for all parties involved. The lengths you're willing to go to in laser tag have an 83% correlation to how far you'll go out in the field – and by field, I mean bar – to get your bro laid, including but not limited to: swearing off rack-jacking, honoring the dibs system, verifying birth date if legality is in question, and willingness to jump on the grenade." At Robin's questioning look over that last one, he explains, "When your bro meets a hot chick but she's got an ugly friend, it's your duty as a wingman to take that bullet."

"Ah," she nods. "Well, you've got no objections from me. Let's go play laser tag. But I warn you, it's been a while but I'm _really_ good at this."

He laughs exaggeratedly. "Okay, Robin. Again, you're talking to the Semi-Annual Laser Tag Tournament champion for nine out of ten years, but yeah, I'll try not to be intimated. Anyway, we'll be playing on the same team."

"Then we're about to kick some serious ass," Robin grins.

Beaming ecstatically, Barney clinches it with a high five.

* * *

**AN**: When Robin meets Ranjit and says "I bet the things you know about Barney would shock and appall", Ranjit's response to her in English is, "If he has his way, you'll know him more." And then he further clarifies, "He wants to have sex with you."


	12. Laser Tag

When they pull up to "the best laser tag arena in all of New York City", at first glance it looks to Robin like a relatively ordinary storefront, apart from the brightly glowing star-speckled sign that simply reads: Laser Tag. Once they get out, however, she can see through the glass windows that the lobby is actually a bustling arcade stocked with every game imaginable.

Stopping by the town car's trunk to retrieve a canvas messenger bag, Barney hoists it onto his shoulder and ushers Robin ahead, opening the door for her. Once inside, they're hit with the sounds of beeping and buzzing from various games, as well as several eleven and twelve year-olds underfoot, but Barney is clearly in his element. Gone is the air of the suave, polished, professional seducer, replaced with a childlike glee at his surroundings and a wide, artless smile lighting up his face.

He points over to one of the chair-equipped arcade games with its brightly colored buttons, knobs, and large steering wheel, appropriately titled _Xtreme Off-Road Challenge: Super Pro Edition_. "I've got high score on that one," he brags. "An off-road arcade game that's rigged for unlimited turbos? It doesn't get any better than that!"

Leading her over to one of the small white tables with red pull-out chairs, Barney sets the messenger bag down on top, unzips it, and starts pulling things out like it's Mary Poppins' magic bag.

Of the black leather belt bag, he explains, "My hands-free token satchel; every pro's got one." Barney holds his hand up preemptively. "And I know you have the whole thing about sharing, but…." he pauses, dramatically producing a large glass stein from the messenger bag. "My free lifetime refills root beer mug! You have to have won a championship to get one, so it's kind of a big deal. Plus, you know, free sodas all night…..That means you don't have to worry about it running out, and we could always get two straws," he offers.

"Barney," she smiles and it melts into a laugh, "it's not like I have an issue with someone taking all my food or drinks, and I don't have a germ thing either. If I did, I couldn't have done any of the stuff I did with Brawny last night." She winks and Barney fights back a scowl. "I _can_ share. I'm not a freak. I'm only against it when it's some sort of coupley mandate, like feeding your girlfriend across the table or sharing the same noodle a la _Lady in the Tramp_." Robin shudders. "I mean, who does that? And, more importantly, _why_?!"

"Beats the hell out of me." And he's not even lying. Sure, with Shannon he had been monogamous, celibate, romantic even. He respected her and didn't mind a little wooing; it could actually be kind of nice. But just because they were involved and made plans together, just because there were real feelings there, they were still never joined at the hip, nothing like Marshall and Lily. That's a whole other level he's never been on and frankly doubts it truly exists outside of idealistic fairytales and one's imagination. "At least that means we're free and clear with my root beer mug," he points out. "Because this is nothing like that. This is just a friendly shared soft drink between bros."

Robin is hit with a sudden image of her and Barney drinking from the same glass, and while his logic is sound, she experiences a definite twist of something that feels anything but friendly when she thinks about putting her mouth where his has just been. Nevertheless, she tells herself to stop being stupid and blinks away the thought. "Right. It's no big thing."

"Great, that's all settled then," he says cheerily. "But root beer's for later. First, we hit the course."

Reaching back into the bag, to her surprise, he hauls out a full-sized vest. "You have your own laser tag equipment?"

The question makes him look up at her like she's grown a second head. "_Naturally_. Like any enthusiast, I prefer to use professional grade. And I bought a second set for my friends, which now includes you, so – vest up, Scherbatsky!"

Stashing the other items back inside the messenger bag and stowing them with Julio behind the ticket counter, he pays their entry fees and takes Robin by the wrist, excitedly pulling her forward into the prep area.

It seems laser tag has come a long way in the past decade and a half. The essential equipment is the same, but the vests have gotten a lot smaller, sleeker, and more stylish – all black with hints of bluish-white on the sensor pads and fitted with adjustable front closures as well as belting on each side to cinch it to your individual waist and chest size. The guns are still tethered to your vest but she suspects that's out of loss prevention rather than functional necessity, and on the upside they've gotten much more realistic-looking.

Barney has his vest strapped on in two seconds flat and then helps out-of-practice Robin get all belted into hers. But when he goes to show her how to use her gun she laughs and snatches it from his hand. "_Please_," she uses his signature snark against him. "I know my way around a firearm."

"Fair enough," he nods, respecting her moxie. "But don't let me down out there." He grabs her hand, leading them through the archway and into the fray. "Shoot at anything that moves! It's us against them; that's the way it always works. Anything under five feet is the enemy."

Robin soon discovers that the laser tag gameplay arena has gotten a lot more elaborate too, though it's certainly no real world or military-style training ground. Instead, the whole place has an over-the-top air of a 1990s urban scene. She half expects to see Will Smith pop out and spray-paint fluorescent graffiti on the walls like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

Overhead track lighting bathes the place in blue and green hues, and neon squiggles, doodles, parallel lines and an assortment of random shapes light up the perimeter walls. Folding orange and white construction signs, traffic cones, police barriers and the like provide interesting obstacles that double as convenient hiding spots and places to duck for cover, as do the bright yellow barrels emblazoned with menacing black skull and crossbones, seeming to indicate toxic waste. Traffic directional signs nailed here and there complete the look.

All in all, it's a charged up atmosphere that has a contagious effect – and in the first few minutes Barney and Robin are going like gangbusters.

They've done just a bit of solo scouting but mostly worked as a team running plays in tandem, with organized fake-outs and single point-man as well as double team maneuvers. Already, they've hit nearly every kid. But the vests recharge after one minute and it takes three hits before you've truly vanquished an opponent, leading to GAME OVER for them. Still, they're off to an amazing start, a better start than even Barney – the Tri-County Laser Tag Champion for nine out of ten years – has ever had on his own.

Pausing back-to-back for cover behind a cluster of stacked yellow barrels, guns still raised and at the ready, they each scan the little alcove and determine they're safely alone for the moment.

Robin turns to Barney, giggling breathlessly. "This is so much better than the laser tag places I went to as a kid!"

"Of course it is. What do you expect when you were in _Canada_?" Barney reasons. "_Everything_ is better this side of the border."

"I love this!" she laughs again, blowing the hair from her eyes, her cheeks bright from exertion. It's a lot like the gun range, only with the added fun of tracking and evading your opponent. "This is so much fun! I can't believe everyone doesn't still play this."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it before it becomes cool again. I give it two months."

"Oh, I believe it – this is awesome!"

The funny thing is, Barney can tell she isn't just humoring him or going along with it because anything seems fun after a few too many drinks, the way that Ted and Marshall do. No, he can plainly see that Robin is genuinely enjoying herself. By the looks of it, she's having the time of her life, and her delight heightens his own.

"Yeah it is!" Barney chuckles in agreement. "And you've shown some impressive visual acuity out there. I've hardly seen anything like it. Has your vision been enhanced by some sort of super-secret government nanotechnology? How'd you get to be such a great shot?"

"I'm Canadian. As you daily remind me," she retorts.

"Ah yes, that's right, you grew up in a survivalist community," he nods. "Everyone in the wilds of Canada _has_ to be proficient in firearms to protect themselves from all the man-eating bears, wolves, and moose."

He isn't too far off on the whole wolf thing, she thinks as a dark memory of her fourteenth birthday haunts her mind, but he's wrong about the moose. "Barney, moose are herbivores."

Making a face, he scoffs, "Sure, they are."

Robin rolls her eyes, giving up on convincing him. "My father was big on hunting and one's ability to be self-sufficient. I learned how to shoot by the age of six and have had a standing appointment at various gun ranges since I was twelve." She shrugs, shaking off the subject of her father, not wanting it to bring her down when they're having such a good time. "It's just something that stuck – but that doesn't mean _all_ Canadians are like that. That's a stereotype, Barney."

"Robin," Barney pats her shoulder conciliatorily, "you can't call it a stereotype when it's true." She shakes off his hand, shoving him playfully, and he laughs. "So your Canadian-ness explains why you're a crack shot, but how come you're okay playing against a bunch of kids? My other friends never want to. They say it's 'demeaning'," he uses air quotes, "and 'insensitive to the children'."

"Insensitive?" she sneers. "These little terrors are _ruthless_. One kicked my shin and another tried to grab my boob."

"Lucky kid," he smirks. "Can't say I blame him."

"Yeah, well, keep dreaming," she teases him, "cause you've got just about as much chance of succeeding as he did."

He steps into her chest-to-chest close enough that the vinyl of his vest brushes against hers. "Don't be too sure; I'm quick on the draw."

Robin's not even sure what that's supposed to mean but, damn, it still turns her on a little bit.

"Okay, follow my lead," Barney commands, ready to jump back into the game. "Stay low, and never underestimate a twelve year-old with a – " Before he can finish, Robin spins away from him, shooting off her gun into the air with abandon. "Scherbatsky! You have to focus!" he scolds her. "Yes, it's fun and can be tempting to fire off rounds willy-nilly, but if you want to win this thing you _have_ to have a strategy."

But then he hears rustling behind him and turns around to discover Johnny Cristalli slinking away with his head slumped down shamefully; that's his third hit.

His expression filled with veneration, Barney turns back to Robin and gratefully expresses, "You just saved my life, didn't you?"

Robin merely shrugs, but at his praise she's grinning brightly enough to light the whole room. "Told you I'm good."

"You're more than just good. You're a natural! And after years out of the game," Barney marvels.

"Thank me later," she waves him off. "Let's keep moving. These little brats are everywhere."

"Yeah, but against us? The little brats don't stand a chance…."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, what started out as a competition of Barney and Robin versus ten opponents is now down to the last two kids, and they're just one shot away from eradicating each remaining boy out. The only trouble is these two are the smartest of the bunch and they have height – or lack thereof – on their side in the ability to hide behind barriers and completely disappear. They'd make short work of the little hooligans if they could only find them.

"Yeah, that's right, hide like the wittle babies you are," Barney taunts them in an effort to get them to come out.

"Maybe they're not here at all, Barney," Robin calls out. "Maybe they already ran home to their mamas!"

"Aw snap! Did you hear that, Jacob and Ethan? You're _burnt_!" Barney cackles evilly and then pauses, exchanging a glance with Robin, but neither kid reveals himself.

"Maybe they didn't hear us?" she whispers.

"Oh, they heard us alright." He narrows his eyes menacingly.

With a determined nod, Robin gestures to the far side of the room. "Let's check on the other side of the tunnel." She sprints across the course and he follows her.

Barney's got to hand it to Robin; she's really going for this full-throttle. It's great to have found someone he can let loose with this way, who understands his love for the game and who doesn't admonish him that being their age means they have to behave like stuffed-shirt fuddy-duddies.

He didn't think it was even possible but Barney finds himself even more attracted to her this way, all fun and free and uninhibited. Running around the course, they've both worked up a bit of a sweat, but on her it looks fantastic. It colors her skin with a becoming flush, brightens her eyes, and her quickened breath makes her chest rise and fall temptingly. Though her vest blocks out any sight of the cleavage he knows would be on display in that V-neck shirt she's wearing, he still can see side-boob around the perimeters of the laser tag gear. She's positively hypnotic – she must look _transcendent_ during sex, an absolute goddess.

The thought makes his pulse pick up and everything tighten and settle down low. Beneath his absurdly expensive Armani trousers he feels his boxer briefs grow snug. But he can't help it. She's so incredible, hair fluttering about her shoulders; all he can do is stare. It doesn't help matters that while the semicircular tunnel they're about to cross into has a ceiling as high as the rest of the rooms, its arched entrance is set several feet lower requiring full-grown adults to duck beneath to enter.

He's so engrossed in watching her bend at the waist, admiring the movement of her body and the way her spine elongates as she straightens back up, that he isn't paying attention to where he's walking and just after he's made it into the tunnel himself the toe of his shoe catches on the pavement and he trips, flying ahead at Robin.

He hears her "Owff" as their bodies make jarring contact, but it's too late to stop his forward progression and he falls into her, pinning her up against the side of tunnel. His hands go to her waist to steady himself, and her arm by instinct wraps around his back to support him, the fingers of her other hand curling into the edge of his vest.

"What happened?" she asks, a hint of laughter in her tone at his clumsiness. One second they were on the hunt, the next he was tumbling into her.

"Sorry," he says quietly as he raises himself back up to full height. "I….I got distracted."

The slightly flustered, guilty way he says it puts a knowing twinkle in Robin's eyes and she mischievously poses, "By _what_, pray tell? What could make the great Barney Stinson, laser tag champion, lose focus in his game?" And there's an air of unmistakable flirtation about her question.

She's toying with him. That alone is hotter and more erotic than the most blatant, fully nude strip show Barney has ever witnessed. He still hasn't moved his hands from her body, but he notices with acuity that _she_ hasn't moved her hands off him either.

He leans in a fraction closer and raises his eyebrow devilishly. "What do you think?"

The sexual tension in that moment is intense. Intense enough that they forget about the game, forget about where they are, forget about everything. The lights, music, and the noise of laser tag fade away. The world reduces to a pinpoint of just him and her and the few inches they occupy in that tunnel.

Barney is blatantly admiring her now, not evenly bothering to hide it as his appreciative gaze drifts over her face, but it doesn't matter because Robin is admiring him too. She half wonders if this was a play, designed to have them falling into each other's arms this way. But, appallingly, she discovers that she doesn't really care if it was. It got her this close into his space and that's all her mind can process at the moment as she delights in his features.

The adorable crinkle in his tall forehead, the same sort of crinkle that appears in the corner of his eyes when he laughs. His blue, blue eyes – such _expressive_ eyes – deep and warm like a tropical ocean. The high, chiseled cheekbones like some kind of cartoon prince. The barest hint of stubble again along his upper lip – and those full, inviting lips are a thing of beauty all their own, the way his low lip just naturally curves up in the middle so it looks almost like he's pouting.

It makes her think about what it would be like to kiss him, makes her want that plump bottom lip in her mouth….in between her teeth. And he smells so good! How can anyone smell this good in the middle of a fierce laser tag battle?

...What if she _could_ kiss him, maybe just once, maybe just to get it out of her system?

But before the thought can fully take shape in her mind, years of hunter's instinct – and that little thing of fending for her life for three days against an actual hungry wolf pack – kick in and her sharpened senses catch flickers of movement in her peripheral vision.

Jacob and Ethan are about to ambush them. There's one of them on each side of the tunnel. They took advantage of their distraction and now they've trapped them in between, the cunning little imps, both raising their guns to take aim.

She's about to shout "Look out!" to Barney, but he's already noted the change in her eyes. She sees that he sees, and no verbalization is necessary. Robin shoots left over his shoulder, Barney shoots right, and they each take out a kid, winning the game.

For a second neither one of them moves, their eyes still pinned on each other's as the boys mutter curses and mope off, defeated. Then Barney lets go of Robin's waist and sets his hands to the tunnel wall, pushing off and out of her personal space.

"That was pretty legendary, Barney," she smiles.

"It was," he agrees, somewhat in awe. "We make a great team, you and I. To be able to pull off the laser tag reverse alley-oop? I don't think anyone's done that before. It quite literally is the stuff of legends." His gaze tangles with hers again, holding it enticingly. "Robin, we have _impeccable_ rhythm." And there is no question that he means it sexually.

Her body is certainly getting the message; it already misses the feeling of his pressed against her. "Our rhythm was never the problem." But then she thinks about what might have happened just now had the boys not ambushed them and she reconsiders, frowning. "Or maybe it is."

"It's only a problem if you try to fight it."

Which is precisely why it _is_ a problem, and she doesn't trust herself beneath the weight of his loaded gaze a second longer. Taking a deep breath, Robin ducks back out of the tunnel. "Well, look at that; we won. In only half the allotted game time."

"And ten against two," Barney points out, following her into the larger room. "That means we got in thirty hits to the one we each took. Thirty to two. That is a very impressive ratio. Scherbatsky," he says as they make their way toward the exit, "you have officially made SWAT."

"SWAT? As in Special Weapons and Tactics?" she asks, amused.

"SWAT, as in Stinson's Way Awesome Team. By March we'll be more than ready to _own_ the most elite doubles laser tag tournament in the Tri-State area!"

"You know what, Barney?" Robin grins. "You're on."

"Alright!"

By impulse, they share a spontaneous exploding fist bump and it makes Robin giggle happily. She honestly can't remember the last time she was this happy. Looping her arm through his, she suggests, "Let's go hit up the food court."

"Yes! There's a giant root beer with our names on it."

After they've de-vested and gone back out into the arcade, Barney retrieves his lifetime refills mug from his bag behind the counter while Robin surveys the food court menu. "Hey look," she says out loud, more to herself than anyone else, just as he's walking back up to her side. "They've got soft pretzels. I haven't had one of those in…." Thinking back, she does some quick math in her head to the time when she lived off Orange Julius and Wetzel's Pretzels. "…..wow, it's been thirteen years."

"Well, come on," he encourages, walking them to the head of the line. "I'll buy you one."


	13. Third Time's The Charm

Barney watches amused as Robin takes another large bite out of her pretzel, then licks the butter off her fingers. While he knows it wasn't intentional, he can't help it; it makes him think of her licking other things. He allows himself to picture that for just a moment before attempting to lift his mind back out of the gutter and asking the far more innocuous question he's been wondering. "Why has it been so many years since you've had a soft pretzel when you clearly love them?"

Robin pulls the root beer mug closer to her side of the table and takes a long sip from their straw to buy some time, while simultaneously cursing herself for mentioning the whole thirteen years thing to begin with. She hadn't been thinking, hadn't expected him to call her on it, but she should have known better with Barney. You always have to remain clearheaded when he's around; danger follows if you don't. "Carbs," she finally responds, deciding that's a plausible enough answer.

"Please," Barney dismisses. "You don't need to lose weight."

"I would if I kept eating a ton of carbs."

He tilts his head in concession. "You do have a point. That's why I'm a regular at the company gym."

Robin laughs imagining that. "I'm sure the gym is filled with potential pickup plays."

"Not the company gym," he replies around a bite of his own pretzel. "That's too close for comfort. Platinum Rule and all that."

Against her own better judgement she's about to ask him to expound on the Platinum Rule when he snatches their root beer back away from her, taking the thought from her mind.

"I have another gym for plays," he explains. "Total Ripped Fitness is where I invest – and, yes, those investments are women."

"Let me guess, you give them lots of attention when they're first starting to work out, when no one will give them the time of day – and quit hogging the root beer," she says with a grin, snatching it right back.

Delight dances in Barney's eyes. She has a competitive streak a mile wide, just like he does. They're even competing now over ownership rights to an unlimited soft drink. It leaves him without a doubt that she is _the_ perfect woman.

"Uh, it's free refills so just relax there, Canada," he teases her. "But you were right on the nose about the gym play. I build up their confidence now, putting myself on their radar as the sensitive guy so that once they get all toned and hot I'm the first one they come running to, the guy who invested in them when they weren't."

Robin scowls over at him. "That may be the most despicable play you've come up with yet."

"Well stay tuned; I'm working on some stuff," he returns with a wicked smirk, making her roll her eyes. "Seriously though, what gives with the pretzel?"

She gobbles down the last of it, wiping her hands on a napkin this time. "You don't really want to hear about why I haven't eaten pretzels," she counters dismissively, hoping to change the subject and keep her secret safe for now. She shudders to think what Barney would do with that knowledge. "That would make for awfully boring conversation. Let's get back around to the basics."

"I thought we already did that?"

"In general. We did the most basic of 'getting to know you' basics. Now let's do the fun ones."

"Talking about first times wasn't a fun one? Oh yeah," Barney remembers. "For you, it wasn't. But like I said before, your first time with me definitely wouldn't disappoint…." He leans across the table purposefully, waggling his eyebrow at her.

"There's never going to be a first time with you, and you know it," she ripostes, showing zero receptiveness to his come hither look – just like he knew she would – and it makes him laugh. "Back on topic," she steers him.

"Which was?" he asks, finishing off his pretzel now too.

"Favorites. Favorite drinks, favorite foods, favorite movies, favorite songs."

"Alright." He eyes her competitively. "We'll see how well I've got you figured out, Scherbatsky."

She narrows her eyes right back at him, accepting the challenge. "Let's start with drinks."

"That's an easy one – and speaking of, who's hogging the root beer now?"

Robin slides it back across the table to him, pointing the straw towards his mouth and shooting him a sassy look. "Is that good enough, or do I need to suck it up myself and spit it into your mouth like a baby bird?"

"Hey, keep your fetishes out of this. Although I would love to hear more about you and sucking."

She scowls at him playfully. "We were talking about favorite drinks."

"Some other time then, cause that sounds like a _great_ story," Barney gleefully rejoins. "To answer your painfully obvious question, scotch is both our favorite drink."

A tiny smile curves up the corners of her mouth. "Johnny Walker and Glen McKenna," she murmurs pleasantly, a slow warmth spreading through her just thinking about a glass, mimicking the drink's effects.

"Wait till you taste a thirty-five year Glen McKenna, neat. I'll buy you one the next time we're out."

"Mmm, sounds like heaven."

"You should try a Penicillin Cocktail."

Her lips twitch in amusement. "With your track record, I'm _sure_ you've had plenty of those."

"Not that kind of penicillin, minx. An actual cocktail. The Penicillin Cocktail was invented right here in New York over at Milk and Honey. It's a mixture of lemon juice, honey, fresh ginger, and a hearty dose of scotch. They're fantastic, especially right now in the fall."

She hums consideringly. "I'll try anything at least once."

"Which is why eventually you _are_ going to find yourself naked and panting beneath me – or on top; whichever way you like it." He clicks his tongue at her, giving her a wink.

Robin just shakes her head, but there's an answering smile on her face that even she can't repress. "It's my turn to guess. Your favorite food." She bites her lip, scrupulously deliberating. "I'm gonna go with something ultra-American, like a burger and fries."

"I do love anything meat based," he grants.

Robin beams. She couldn't be more tickled by his answer. "Freudians would read a great deal into that."

"What, that I like a good steak? We both know I'm not gay, Robin."

"Never said you were. I was thinking more along the lines of overcompensation for, shall we say, lack of your own meat," she impishly harasses.

Barney scoffs. "I don't have a problem there either. But if you don't believe me…." He scoots his chair away from the table, leaning his arms out across the back. "….I invite you to feel for yourself."

Looking over at him with his suit coat off, his sleeves rolled up, no tie, open collar, she swallows heavily. The truth is she'd kind of _like_ to feel for herself, but she'd never admit that, lest of all to him. "I would," she replies, "but I don't waste my time on such 'small potatoes'."

He reaches out and takes her hand, his eyebrow raised challengingly. "If you really believe that, why don't you put your hand where your mouth is? Or, by all means, go ahead and put your mouth there too," he smirks mischievously.

She huffs out a laugh, pulling her hand back out of his grasp. "Nice try, Barney. But you forget; I'm not one of your naïve bimbos. I'm not dumb enough to give you an accidental handy – and, no, I'm not going to rub it to see if it grants wishes."

"Oh, it does."

"Yeah – _yours_."

"You're no fun," he teases with a mock pout.

Robin rolls her eyes with a little shake of the head. "So was I right or wrong?" She sees him open his mouth with that cheeky look on his face and already knows what he's going to say. "Not about your manhood," she anticipates him. "About your favorite food."

"You were right adjacent. I'd say my favorite food is steak, followed by a meatball sub, but you never can underestimate the appeal of a good old-fashioned burger. What about you?"

"Pancakes," she smiles. "Though waffles will do too. Or crepes. Really, anything you can put maple syrup on." Her mouth is watering just talking about it.

Robin's clichéd answer makes him chuckle. "So what is this little exercise meant to prove other than that I'm all American and you are _super_ Canadian?

"I don't know." She shrugs. "It's just 'getting to know you' first date conversation."

Barney holds her gaze cleverly. "Why, Scherbatsky, I didn't know you considered this a date. I would have brought my A game."

"I'm just happy to hear you don't consider the old 'feel my pants' trick your A game. But, no, this is not a romantic date – made clear by all the times I've turned you down." A little smirk plays across Robin's lips and she adds, "Although that probably _is_ your typical date."

He shakes his head at her, his mouth crooked to the side trying to conceal his smile. "You're playing dirty now."

"It's the only way I know how," she answers, winking at him this time. "But I guess you could call this a date of sorts. It's a bro date."

"It _is_ a bro date," Barney thoroughly approves. "But not our first."

"No, this is our…." Robin thinks back on the near constant amount of time they've spent with each other since they first met. There was the night they went to Carmichael's, then the next night back at MacLaren's, and now today at laser tag. "This would be our third bro date." She knows the words are a mistake the moment she says them.

Both his eyebrows rise to cartoonish levels, clearly relishing this. "Our _third_ date? It is, isn't it? And we all know what that means…."

"Barney, Barney, Barney," she sighs as if she doesn't know what she's going to do with him. "I know you'd probably expect it of your usual class of female companionship, but I'm not having sex with you at laser tag in front of a bunch of twelve year olds."

"Of course not," Barney deadpans. "That's what the bathroom's for." He grins when Robin laughs like he knew she would. "No. Sadly, no sex. But this momentous third date does at least call for some sort of exchange of bodily fluids."

She steals the root beer back from him, finishing off the last of it. The slurping sound from their shared straw coming up empty echoes across the table. "Looks like we've got that covered."

"Like I said, no fun." Barney shoots her a smile, getting up to go get them a refill.

There's a hurry to his step when sits back down across from her a minute later.

"Alright then," he announces, offering her the root beer first, "let's finish off your game so we can get back to annihilating sniveling prepubescent provocateurs. I just saw a fresh batch of 'em come in for Billy Steinberg's eleventh birthday party – and his crowd's had it coming for a _long_ time."

"You are certifiable," she laughs.

"Turn around and look for yourself."

Robin does just that and spots a prepster kid at the head of the table, wearing a pastel button-up beneath a navy blue sweater with a khaki fedora and brown loafers to complete the ensemble, while his equally douchey-looking mom opens a bakery cakebox that from over here she can clearly read has "Gluten and Sugar Free" stamped across the top. "Yeah, you're right. That kid has it coming," she agrees.

Barney chuckles mercilessly and they high five across the table. "Okay, favorite song?"

"I've always liked "Wrecking Ball". Neil Young, _not_ Miley Cyrus," she clarifies with a shudder, taking another sip of root beer.

"You have something against teenage pop stars?"

That makes her sputter and choke on the drink.

Barney grabs a handful of napkins, mopping at the table. "I guess that's enough for you," he jokes, pulling their mug back over to him.

"_No_," Robin giggles enigmatically once she's recovered. "I do not have anything against teenage pop stars."

"Then you have something against twerking?"

"You _wish_ you could see me twerking," she teases.

"I wish I could feel you twerking," Barney replies, closing his eyes and slow-motion miming holding onto her hips as she twerks against him.

"I bet you do," she snorts out a laugh. "No, what I have is something against terrible singing – and sex acts with foam fingers and giant plushy cats."

"_I_ could get you to like a foam finger. Though with me you wouldn't need any additional help."

""Insensitive"," Robin says suddenly.

Barney expression turns from vaguely sexual to awkward and alarmed; it's a look she's never before seen on him.

"Robin, you know I was joking, right? I mean not really; I _could_," he insists of his abilities to get her off one way or another. "But I wasn't being serious."

"No," she smiles, amused by his panic, "I was talking about the song. Jann Arden. I enjoyed that one when I was younger. But my favorite song is probably Joni Mitchell, "Both Sides, Now". Although," she all at once remembers, "I used to love Bryan Adams' "Heaven". I haven't thought about that in years!" Robin laughs to herself. "I was fourteen, at school. The Fall Social. It was my first couples _anything_."

"Ahh," he recalls fondly, "a middle school dance…."

"Actually, it was a school skating party."

He nods in appreciation. "The roller rink, slow skate song. Even better," he smiles.

"Not roller, _ice_. It was mid-October; naturally, the pond had frozen over by then."

Grinning, Barney replies, "Which brings me to my next point: those singers are all Canadian. You've got to expand your musical horizons."

"Such as?"

"The classics. A couple of my favorites, like Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" or The Scorpions "Rock You Like A Hurricane"," he punctuates with a head bang and air guitar. "And nothing beats Bon Jovi. "You Give Love A Bad Name". Dude, they rocked that song like a boss. Even one of their newer ones like "Always" is awesome."

"Hmm, I can see that with you," she reflects on his musical taste. "What about your favorite movie – something action packed and military based, right?"

"Ehhhhht, wrong," he imitates a buzzer. "I'd have to go with _Weekend At Bernie's_, a cinematic treasure if there ever was one. But take heart; you weren't far off the mark, Scherbatsky. _Top Gun_'s my feel-good movie."

"That is a great choice, but how many times have you watched _Die Hard_?" Robin asks excitedly.

"Too many to count," Barney echoes her enthusiasm. "We should have a movie night sometime on my giant three hundred inch wall screen."

"Those exist?" she questions, shocked.

"They only sell them in Japan, but I know a guy," he waves it off. "Speaking of movies, how great is _Lethal Weapon_?"

"I don't know," Robin balks. "I'd say it's kind of a rip-off of _my_ favorite film. I mean, old guy paired up with a young, renegade cop. Sound familiar?" When he looks at her cluelessly, she reveals, "_Mackleroy and LeFleur_."

He shakes his head. "Never heard of it."

Robin gasps. "Don't tell me you have never seen _Mackleroy and LeFleur_! It's the greatest Canadian action movie of all time. A young, renegade Mountie whose horse was just killed by evil Americans teams up with LeFleur, his grouchy, old, African-Canadian partner who just bought a cozy ice fishing shack in northern Alberta, and then – "

"Okay, stop right there," Barney interrupts, his eyes wide with horror. Sighing, he shakes his head in disgust. "Canada ruins just aboot everything, doesn't it?"

"Shut up." She kicks him under the table.

"Hey! I'm gonna need that leg later for battle."

"I don't _just_ like Canadian films, you know." She pauses to think of something American that she enjoys to prove her point. "Oooh, I love Mel Brooks movies!"

"Me too," Barney enthusiastically agrees. "Once a year, my partner, James, and I watch – "

"Wait a minute." Robin eyes him suspiciously. "Bankers have partners?"

* * *

**AN**: Since I want this to be more serialized than my other stories, I'm going to try something new like they do on television shows - adding in a note at the end with "Scenes for the next episode". Let me know in a review if you like it or if you'd rather be completely surprised (though it will just be a little teaser and nothing too revealing).

**In the next chapter**: Barney tries to talk his way out of his slip of the tongue, Robin questions his proclivity for wearing suits, and future plans are made.


	14. The Lady Doth Protest Too Much

"I don't _just_ like Canadian films, you know." She pauses to think of something American that she enjoys to prove her point. "Oooh, I love Mel Brooks movies!"

"Me too," Barney enthusiastically agrees. "Once a year my partner, James, and I watch – "

"Wait a minute." Robin eyes him suspiciously. "Bankers have partners?"

* * *

**The Lady Doth Protest Too Much**

* * *

A twist of alarm shoots through Barney. How could he have been so careless? In ten years working with the FBI he's never before let himself have an unconscious slipup like this. But Robin does something to him, has a way of wheedling and breaking through his defenses without him even realizing it's happening.

He has no choice now but to try the same thing on her. Smoke and mirrors, a distraction. That is, after all, a magician's best friend – next to a drunk audience, of course. "I told you I'm not a banker," he groans with overstated exasperation.

"Fine," Robin shakes her head, not letting his protest even mildly slow her down. "_GNB workers_ have partners?"

"Well, not a partner, no," Barney nonchalantly corrects himself – because he can think quickly on his feet too, thank you very much, Ms. Scherbatsky. "I meant to say my 'coworker'. But it seems weird and a bit impersonal to call James only a coworker when we've been friends for so long." That's the key to being an effective liar he's learned over the years; always throw in as much of the truth as possible. "Actually, we were friends before we were partners," he reveals, only to realize he misspoke again.

Dammit! What is the matter with him? His eyes scrunch up and he shakes his head. "Er, _coworkers_," he corrects once more. It's just so natural talking with her that he finds himself opening up to her far too easily. He's going to have to watch himself around Robin, that's for sure.

"What's your favorite Mel Brooks movie?" he asks, hoping to recover by deftly sending her down another train of thought. "If you answer anything other than _Spaceballs_ you can stop right there because there's no way you can be a part of SWAT."

Robin can't hold back a laugh and she opts to let the whole partner thing go, though she still finds it peculiar and doesn't for a second buy his answer. "You really love _Star Wars_, don't you?"

Barney breathes an inward sigh of relief that she's taken the bait. He doesn't even mind her laughing at him since it's far preferable to her digging any further and discovering secrets she's not meant to know. And when she teases him it's really rather enjoyable. But all teasing aside, _Star Wars_ is a certified masterpiece that should be given its proper dues. "Don't you?" he asks, scandalized – and it's only partially feigned.

"Sure, I guess," she replies with a shrug. "It's a good series, at least the original three. But I think it's more of a guys' obsession than a woman's."

He recoils, about to unleash an aghast protest that _Star Wars_ should be _everyone's_ obsession, but then she adds, "I'll tell you what, though; Ewoks are seriously awesome. I mean, are you kidding? Teddy bear-like creatures that draw you in with their cute and cuddly appearance – but just wait till the battle's on in Endor and these bears will crush your skull faster than you can say Teddy Ruxpin!"

"God, you're perfect," Barney sighs, not intending to say the words out loud and not even realizing that he actually did until he hears Robin's laugh.

"Did you just say I'm perfect?"

"Perfectly correct in your opinion," he salvages yet another slipup. "Ewoks _are_ indisputably awesome."

She gives him a look like she doesn't entirely believe his excuse, but she doesn't say anything more. "Okay, so to summarize while the mini douche and his posse are still finishing up their birthday cake, you love laser tag, Bon Jovi, _Star Wars_, and suits."

"Don't forget women."

"Oh, that goes without saying."

"Then, yep, that's about right. And _you_ love all things Canadian, a heaping helping of maple syrup, guys with more muscles than brains – "

"Well, an equal part is preferable," Robin interjects, "but if it comes to one over the other, let's just say his brain isn't the muscle I'm gonna be excising most. Hey-o!"

Barney smirks at that and it melts into a laugh as he adds, "Which brings me to perhaps your greatest quality of all: an affinity for hot, athletically dirty, no-strings sex."

Robin puts on an expression of serious contemplation. "Hmm…" She makes a show of considering it. "That seems fairly accurate." But the facade crumbles quickly as a smile breaks out on her face; around Barney, it's inevitable. "All of mine are easy to understand, though. What's up with you and the suits? Do you really wear them _all_ the time?"

"Not one hundred percent of the time." His eyes get that naughty little glimmer. "A suit makes it a little difficult when you're – "

"No, obviously not while having sex," she anticipates him. "Which I realize for you is at least half the time. And not when you're in the shower either. Just counting all normal, clothing-wearing occasions."

"Then, yes, I'm in a suit all the time. No, wait," he reconsiders. "That's not entirely true. I don't wear suits to the gym." He leans in closer across the table and his voice takes on a hushed tone. "And I'll admit something to you, Scherbatsky. Most of what I've said about suitjamas and sleeping cravats is largely a myth."

She shoots him a cunning look. "They never existed, did they?"

"Oh, suitjamas existed alright. Still do, as a matter of fact. I keep a pair on hand for emergencies. But they didn't work out on a day-to-day basis."

"Let me guess," she shrewdly grins, "you had to lie perfectly still so they wouldn't wrinkle."

Barney purses his lips and his eyes are cast down toward the tabletop as he awkwardly grants, "That's about the size of it."

"Idiot," she laughs, shaking her head. "I'm glad to hear you gave that up. You should at least be comfortable while you're sleeping, Barney."

She pulls their root beer back over to her, taking a long drink as she studies his face. His expression is easy, amused, and open, causing her to deem now a safe time to delve a little deeper. "Can I ask you seriously, why do you really wear them? What's the motivation? There must be some deeper reason behind it."

"Robin, the reason should be obvious." He gestures down his suited-up frame, though clearly more casual so at the moment. "Because two piece or three piece, single or double-breasted, I look legen – " He holds up his hand in the air as he finishes. " – you don't have to wait for it cause you'll see it every day – _dary_ in a suit."

"That may be so," Robin replies, and he grins at her admission that she thinks he looks good, "but _I_ look legen – most men can't even handle it – _dary_ in a teddy or a leather catsuit, yet you don't see me wearing one walking down Madison Avenue. So why do you always wear a suit, even to laser tag?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he throws back. "Suits are a bona fide, time-tested sex magnet. They are guaranteed panty-melting, how-can-I possibly-keep-my-clothes-on-standing-next-to-such-an-impressive-collection-of-woven-threads-and-masculinity devises. Suits are the world's best wingman. This is all in my blog," he waves her off.

Which doesn't mean much since he just admitted he takes blatant liberties with the truth in his writing. However, she doesn't point that out, instead arguing, "Yes, but even you can't be out to get laid 24/7. There has to be an off time." Considering it, she grimaces. "Or at least a refractory period."

Barney makes a sound of offense and lifts one finger aloft. "Okay, Robin, first of all, my refractory period is nonexistent." She scoffs at that, leading him to adjoin, "It's a real thing. Don't believe me? Just google it."

"I know it's a thing," Robin smirks. "I saw that episode of Dr. Oz. I just don't believe _you_ have it."

"I swear on my suits." He crosses his heart over his bespoke shirt, but she continues to give him a doubtful look. "Alright, fine," he relents. "At the _most_ it's five to ten minutes – but I swear at least a third of the time I really am good to go after just a minute's rest."

Given his tone and expression, he seems to be telling the truth, but one never knows with Barney. Still, Robin can't help but be skeptically impressed.

"The point is, I am _always_ up for some action," Barney continues. "And even if I wasn't, one should always put forth their best appearance to the world, regardless of their desire for layage."

She knows he expects a laugh or at least a smile, but Robin brushes aside the joke about getting laid, focusing instead on the real heart of what he's just said. Because although he may not realize it, he's actually just revealed quite a lot.

_Always put forth your best appearance to the world_.

She has no idea why it comes into her head now but it reminds her of when she was in high school – real school, before all the touring. Barney likes to tease Canada, but contrary to what he says about how backwards they all are Canadian school isn't all that different from the American high school experience. Just like her American colleagues, she had to take this literature class where she was forced to read _Pride and Prejudice_. It wasn't exactly her kind of book but she was such a people pleaser growing up – always just trying to make her parents happy, trying to make them proud, hoping to make them love her – that getting good marks was like second nature so she suffered through the novel. Or at least she did until she managed to sneak out to the video store and rent a copy of the miniseries. One line from it stuck out to her and she still remembers it all these years later, probably because she could relate to it so much. And that one line is basically what Barney just unwittingly revealed to her now: _We neither of us perform to strangers_.

"What people think of you, how they see you, that's really important to you, isn't it?" she says gently, more an observation than a question since 'putting forth your best appearance' is only in very small part actually about what you're wearing.

Suits and the confidence they give are just his chosen armor; she sees that now. She sees it because she has armor too, only hers comes in the form of snark and aloofness and mock inflated ego. The truth, it seems, is that they're both intensely private people who put up a mask for the world – a mask of perfection, a mask of being untouchable, a mask of exactly what they _want_ you to see. Always a mask, but so much more going on beneath the surface. A public face so different from the private one

Barney has no idea what Robin is thinking and his guard goes up immediately. What she just said sounds like a potential insult, like she's judging him.

But then she adds, "I completely get that."

He smiles softly and in turn sees something in her eyes that makes him believe she truly does understand. "Always be awesome instead, right?" he poignantly replies.

It stirs something in Robin, knowing that he gets it too, even more than she initially realized. Because she hears her father's voice on a constant loop in her mind.

_Never let them see you cry, RJ_. _Crying is for losers_.

But she _did_ cry, an awful lot too, when alone in the privacy of her room – after he made her shoot her pet bunny, after her burned all her clothes, after he cut off her hair. Sometimes she still cries alone in her room at night. She wonders if it's the same for Barney.

When she glances up at him, something in the way he's looking at her unnerves her, makes her aware that it's suddenly gotten too honest, too real. It makes her jumpy and itching to change the subject. "Look!" she exclaims, placing her hand over his on the tabletop. "Billy's just heading into the game zone. Come on, we've got to go!"

What alarms Barney far more than the prospect of the little twerp getting a head start on them is the tingle on his skin where she's touching him.

* * *

They suit back up and play another spirited round – and manage to win again, even against the birthday boy's entire posse and whatever other miscellaneous kids happen to be in the course. By the time they emerge, they're surprised to see dusk already coming on.

It's only then that they realize how hungry they've both gotten. After such masterful laser tagging, Barney figures he owes her more food than a soft pretzel, so he insists on taking Robin to dinner before he brings her home.

After the ride back to Brooklyn and a delicious meal at yet another lovely bistro he happens to know, they find themselves out on the sidewalk in front of her building where a prolonged goodnight is stretching out while Ranjit waits in the town car and Barney and Robin pass the flask back and forth that he produced from his coat pocket on the ride over.

"If you had this the whole time why exactly were we _just_ drinking root beer before?" Robin remarks as she takes another swig.

Barney gives her a nauseated look. "Uh, because this isn't Kahlua, Scherbatsky."

She hasn't a clue what that means, but his expression makes her laugh. "I had fun today," she tells him. "Too bad tomorrow it's back to work."

Her tone and accompanying frown leave no question as to the fact that she'll be far less pleased to show up for duty on Monday than he will, but still he answers, "For me too."

"I'll be working on stories all afternoon." Though I don't know why I bother, she adds silently. "And then I'm on live from 6-7."

"I've already programmed it in my DVR."

She sighs in reply. "Well just remember when you're watching it to take pity on your bro."

He's about to respond when Robin cut in with, "Hey, how about we meet up again Monday night? After a day at work, I could use a drink."

Barney's eyebrow lifts at that. "You make me more and more curious to check out your show. But Monday night won't work. I'm getting together with some friends. I'd bail but one of them just got out of the ER and is having a 'bandages come off' party," he explains.

"Oh." She can't escape the deflated feeling, and is more than a little upset with herself for being so foolish. She hadn't expected him to have plans, though she doesn't know why. Of course someone as awesome and fun as Barney would have plenty of others in his life. _She_ was the one in need of a friend the night they met. He was just looking to get laid and stumbled into their friendship accidentally. But it's not Barney's fault that her pride is wounded for being silly enough to wish him all to herself. "I'm sorry. About your friend," she clarifies with genuine concern. "I'm glad he's alright."

"She was never in any danger," Barney plays it down. "It was nothing; just a minor cooking mishap."

"_She_? Ahh, I see."

Robin busies herself with capping the flask, but it's no good; he's perfectly perceived her reaction. "No," he smiles. "You don't see."

"Come on, Stinson. You were letting me behind the curtain, remember? You've already told me too much for me to believe there's not some kind of play involved here." And she makes sure to imbue her voice with playful teasing so it won't come off as the accusation it comes dangerous close to sounding in her head.

"Ordinarily you'd be right. But the particular 'she' in question is the girlfriend of a bro, so it's nothing like what you were thinking."

Robin hates herself for the treacherous sense of relief she feels, but simply nods. "The Bro Code."

"Always," Barney confirms. "Plus she's not really my type. Pretty and all…." He shakes his head. "But it's not like that."

"Hmm, it's interesting to know you _have_ a type beyond female and breathing," she retorts, and this time the playful teasing isn't merely put on.

"You're forgetting C-cup and higher," he adds devilishly. "And plus-size need not apply; B-man don't do thick crust."

Robin pushes him good-naturedly across the pavement. "You're such a jerk," she affectionately reprimands him, though she knows he said it on purpose to get this very reaction. "What I'm more surprised about is that you'd keep around a bro who has a girlfriend."

"Well, what can you do? He's a good bro." Barney shrugs. "It's his funeral."

"I'll drink to that," she seconds, uncapping the flask and doing just that.

"And she's an okay girl," he allows. "They've been going out forever. It's a package deal. She's just part of the group now."

"That means I'm not the only woman you've let in on the insanity that is Barney Stinson," Robin says quietly, handing him back the flask. Their fingers brush as he takes it from her.

Barney's jaw slants and he studies her closely. Was that a hint of jealousy he detected? If so, that's an awfully good sign. "I guess you're not the only woman I've ever let in on the game, not entirely. But mostly. She's not nearly as cool as you are, and she'd _never_ go to laser tag with me. She doesn't approve of plays either. She's always trying to reform me, mother me. In a way, she's like family." He pockets the flask and with his hands now free he sets one on her hip, pressing in closer. "But you, Robin….I don't feel the slightest bit related to you. Unless it's some kind of incestuous Appalachian thing."

"Eww." Robin wrinkles her nose, but she's grinning. "Anyway…." she says pointedly, moving his hand back to his own side.

"You can't blame a guy for trying," Barney interposes with a wink.

"That means tomorrow is definitely out."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Unfortunately, I promised I'd be there. There's going to be some kind of group photo." He rolls his eyes. "But how about Tuesday?"

Robin lets out a sound of regret. "Tuesday I'm pulling a double shift. I'll be doing the 6 o'clock news and news at 11." She racks her brain because she really does want to see him again and not just leave it upended where they might lose touch and fade out with time. "Maybe we could do lunch? Metro News 1 isn't far from GNB."

Barney mentally cringes at the thought. James would just love to rag on him forever if he actually met Robin – and he'd embarrass him endlessly too.

"Oh wait! I have an even better idea. Why don't you come by the station after work?" she proposes. "Since you're determined to be our one and only viewer, you deserve a VIP tour. Which is to say, you might as well get a crash course into what you'll be dealing with sooner rather than later."

"Alright," Barney laughs. "Tuesday it is." He knows this is the natural point where the evening should end; they say good night, she goes up to her apartment, and they don't see each other again for another forty-eight hours. But he doesn't want to leave it at that, mostly just doesn't want to leave at all. He takes another step nearer. "I'll see you upstairs?" he offers, his voice betraying a hint of what he hopes for.

"Uh, you just saw how well I can defend myself." Robin moves in to whisper, "And I can do the same with the real gun in my purse." He looks down in surprise at the bag slung over her arm. "So I'm pretty sure I can make it up a couple flights of stairs alone."

Barney grins knowingly. "Okay. Alright." He nods repeatedly, as if he's onto something. "You still won't let me in your apartment, _and_ you won't come back to mine. I see what's going on here. You're afraid for us to be all alone together near a room with a bed."

Robin tsks at him, shaking her head. "You're thinking like Brawny now. Who needs a bed? If I really wanted to, I would have had my way with you back in the town car."

"On a ten minute drive?" he scoffs. "Robin, you do not set your expectations high enough." He gets that twinkle in his eye that tells her he's about to harass her over something. "And didn't you _already_ try to have your way with me in the backseat?" he asks, his mouth twitching in delight.

"I told you!" she protests on a laugh. "The car stopped unexpectedly."

Ranjit slammed on the brakes to avoid a jaywalker; she'd reached over to brace herself on the seat and ended up grabbing Barney's upper thigh instead. He'd teased her about it for the rest of the ride over – especially since it had actually drawn a blush to her cheeks.

"The lady doth protest too much," Barney smirks wickedly.

Robin smiles, and with one last shake of her head turns to go up the stairs. "Good night, Barney."

"See you Tuesday, Scherbatsky."

* * *

**AN**: I just want to clarify since a couple people have been confused. This story does not take place in 2005. It's an AU retelling of the series, but I in no way mean for it to begin ten years ago. That's one of the changes I've made to the story, as well as aging the characters up slightly when it begins.

I'm now switching back to update "Catching the Clock" so it will be a little bit before I get back to this one. But, as before, I'll do three updates on this to one on my other story.

**In the next chapter**: Patrice and James weigh in on Robin and Barney's friendship, and the gang throws a party for Lily's newly healed eye.


	15. Something's Up

Come Monday morning, Robin finds Patrice waiting for her when she walks into her dressing room. "So you've recovered from your ill-timed flu," she remarks dryly. "How I envied you."

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Patrice replies sunnily, oblivious to the fact that Robin actually _hadn't_ asked. "It wasn't even the flu. Joe and I picked up some soup from the Blue Bowl for dinner Thursday night and it turns out I got a slight case of food poisoning."

"Figures," Robin grumbles. Setting down her purse and latte, she takes a seat at her "desk" that's really just a makeup table. "I'd rather be home any night puking my guts out instead of stuck at a bar with a bunch of weepy females."

"That's true, I know you would. The Blue Bowl was really nice about it too. They gave me a free gallon of soup for getting sick, so all in all it was a good weekend." Patrice perks up. "But your weekend must have not been all bad either. You went home with a guy! Your dry spell is over!" she giddily congratulates her.

"How did you know about that?"

"Anna saw you leaving the bar with him."

Robin hadn't even noticed Anna at MacLaren's Saturday night. Then again, she supposes that's not surprising. She was too wrapped up in Barney to notice anyone else there. Well, not in Barney per se, she quickly corrects her subconscious. She was too wrapped up in running their plays. "Yes, the dry spell is no more. I had my first New York sex. The two month drought is officially over."

Patrice's joined hands go up to her mouth and she gasps ecstatically. "_And_?"

"And what?"

Patrice laughs. Sometimes she thinks Robin truly is clueless about how romantic relationships are supposed to go. "How was the rest of the weekend, silly?"

Robin smiles, allowing herself to admit, "It was actually pretty great. Barney, this guy I met, and I had dinner together Friday – Saturday and Sunday too, come to think of it. And he took me to laser tag Sunday afternoon. Can you believe it? Laser tag still exists, and they have an awesome arena right here in the city."

"You guys spent the whole weekend together?" Patrice coos.

"Yeah….I guess we did," Robin realizes. "He's the first real, non-work friend I've made since I moved here. And he's coming by the station tomorrow afternoon."

"Oooh, what's he like?"

"Like no one you've ever met before," Robin grins. "If I didn't know he has a functioning place in society, I'd swear he was literally certifiable. He has this internet blog teaching people how to live, and he always wears suits, no matter what. He's a complete nut! And he's also charming and charismatic, and _good-looking _– not in my usual strapping, athletic way but in an urbane, metrosexual type way. He doesn't talk much about what he does, but I think he may be some kind of genius. He's amazingly smart….and funny, and fun to be around, and – "

Robin cuts herself off abruptly when she realizes she sounds alarmingly close to a smitten schoolgirl gushing a little too fondly about Barney for her own comfort. "He's nice. You'll like him," she finishes simply, fiddling with some papers on her desk just to look busy.

"Aww, Robin, this is great. It's just what you need. I was a little worried when I heard he was hitting on so many different women, but – "

"Oh, he's the biggest womanizer I've ever met," Robin confirms. "He even has this system of highly organized, pre-orchestrated plays – we're talking costumes, sets, the whole works if he's to be believed – just to get women into bed. But you know me; I'm not exactly a traditionalist. To tell you the truth, when I'm on my usual game I'm not much better than he is, so it's not like it's going to offend me."

"I'm so happy for you!" Proving as much, Patrice claps her hands like an overeager child. "For weeks, I've wanted to see you find something fulfilling like I have with Joe. When Anna told me you left with a guy I thought, knowing you, it'd probably be a one-time thing, but it's so good to hear you have a blossoming relationship going."

Robin looks over at her blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Barney," Patrice answers like it's the most obvious thing. "You didn't just sleep together. You're actually seeing each other now."

Robin does a spit-take on her latte, inadvertently misting her assistant in the Cinnamon Dolce spray. "Me and Barney? We are _not_ seeing each other," she insists. "We're just friends. Bros, he calls it. Barney's not even the one I slept with…..Can you imagine? I would – we would never have sex." She dissolves into a string of giggles. "That's stupid; it would be stupid."

"Wait, you didn't sleep with Barney? But Anna saw you leaving together."

Robin understands the mistake now. "She must have meant on Friday night. I did leave with Barney then. We had dinner, made plans to meet up again – and I went home, _alone_."

"But you said you spent the weekend together."

"We did. Saturday we met for drinks at MacLaren's. That's when I hooked up with Steve – who looks nothing like Barney, by the way – and Barney hooked up with some blonde. I never did find out her name; we just called her the 7. Then we hung out again on Sunday."

"So this Steve guy is the one who broke your dry spell?"

"Well, Barney and I just call him Brawny cause Barney said he looked like the Brawny Man – and, to be honest, he isn't wrong – but yeah. It was him."

"And?"

"What is it with you and your 'ands'? And _nothing_. We had sex, I left, end of story. I'm never going to see him again. I deleted his number. There's no 'and' to tell."

Patrice looks at her curiously. "But you spent the whole weekend with Barney?"

"We spent the weekend hanging out," Robin makes certain to clarify this time. "Sure." She's really at a loss to understand what's so strange about that. "Isn't that what friends do?"

"Yes, it is. But, Robin," Patrice points out, because she isn't as innocent and naïve as her Canadian friend thinks, "Barney's not the one you had sex with, yet he's the only one you've talked about. Can't seem to _stop_ talking about, even when I asked about the other guy."

"What?" Robin scoffs. "That's not true…..Alright, maybe it's true, but it doesn't mean anything. It's just that Brawny was boring. He was a means to an end and nothing more. Barney is my new bro. We hang out; we have a lot in common. There's nothing weird about that."

"Okay, my mistake," Patrice relents.

Robin, however, doesn't let it go so easily. "Are you _kidding_? Barney and I in a 'blossoming relationship'? That's hilarious. Barney doesn't believe in love any more than I do, and he believes in commitment even less. There is nothing between us but friendship, Patrice, so just get any other ideas out of that romance drenched mind of yours."

"Alright. Whatever you say, Robin." Patrice smiles, knowing far better than her boss. "I can't wait to meet your new fella," she calls back as she leaves Robin's dressing room.

* * *

Ranjit just pulled to a stop in front of the GNB headquarters when James turns to Barney in the back of the town car. "You ready for this? Arthur gave us until the end of the year to bring this case in. That's only three months."

Something in the way James says it tells Barney he's still skeptical they're going to be able to pull this off and save his career with the FBI. While James is correct that the odds are stacked against them, Barney still intends to win and he lets his partner know as much. "It's make or break time," Barney agrees. "We'll just have to look closer at Greg's dealings at AltruCell. That's where the undeniable proof is, I'm sure of it."

"But where do we start? Greg was operating for years at AltruCell before they bought out GNB. He had countless clients. The smoking gun could be anywhere. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Yeah, well, you'd better get a magnet then because we've got to find it. No excuses."

Studying him, James nods. He meant what he said on Saturday. As long as Barney's doing it for the right reasons, he's every bit as in this as his quasi-brother. "Let's get to it then."

After a morale boosting fist-bump of determination, they exit the car and start towards the entrance to the GNB building.

On the way through the lobby to the elevator, Barney asks, "How was your weekend with Tom?", and can't stop a hint of distaste from creeping into his tone.

"Wonderful," James answers. He disregards Barney's rolled eyes. "Hey, don't hate me for finding happiness. What about you? Did you miss me on Sunday? Were you lost without the J-man bringing his third heat to MacLaren's?"

"Actually, I was with Robin."

"Ah, so you were making a little heat of your own then, a little friction. I like it." James nudges him with his elbow before raising his hand high. "Up top!"

"I _wish_ that's what we were doing," Barney grouses. "The only thing she made was my tighty-whities even tighter – metaphorically speaking, of course; I'd never be caught dead in _actual_ tighty-whities." He shakes his head in horror of the thought as they step inside the elevator. "Robin's great at running plays, though. She landed me a 7. In exchange, I hooked her up with a clone of the Brawny Man – you know, the paper towel guy." He shudders. "Very poor taste on her part, but it's what she wanted." Barney shrugs, punching the button for his upper management floor. "We compared notes on Sunday. Neither was anything to write home about, but it scratched an itch, so there's that. And Robin and I ruled at laser tag! Seriously, you've been bumped from my roster. SWAT is all Stinson and Scherbatsky from now on." Barney looks over at James and he's just staring at him. "What?"

"So let me get this straight, you spent the whole weekend with this woman, but strictly _platonically_? What happened to 'Barney Stinson always gets the yes'?"

Barney frowns but answers defensively. "We have plans again tomorrow." And he says it in a way that gives the distinct implication he'll still get that 'yes' eventually.

"So you're in it for the challenge? That's what you're telling yourself here?"

The startling truth is that Barney just likes spending time with Robin, even if he never does sleep with her, but he can't admit that to James. He has trouble admitting it to himself. "She _is_ challenging," he answers with a suggestive smirk. "She promised to give me a tour of her studio tomorrow."

"A studio tour?" James questions in amusement as they step out onto their floor. "That's the sort of boring stuff you wouldn't be caught dead doing, even to get laid." He shoots him a knowing look. "You're working awfully hard just to get in this girl's pants…..and spending a lot of your free time with her. You _sure_ there isn't something more to it?"

"James," Barney scoffs, "who are you talking to? Sex _is_ the 'something more'. And like you said, I never turn down a challenge. Besides, you haven't seen her. I think even _you_ might want to hit that."

James laughs at that. "So sexy she can turn a gay man straight?"

"If anyone could, it'd be her," Barney grins. But to further disabuse James of any incorrect notions, he adds, "And who knows? Metro News 1 could always have a hot weather girl, right?"

* * *

Later that night, Barney lets himself into the apartment over MacLaren's and sees a newly healed Lily and her would-be fiancé sitting on the couch together. Ted's over in the brown leather recliner, rounding off the world's lamest threesome. Still, he's happy to see his friends.

"Hey, Lily," he greets her amiably, "back to two eyes, I see. No longer walking around as Quasimodo, frightening little school children."

"Technically," Ted butts in before she can respond, "while Quasimodo may have frightened children, he had nothing to do with piracy and didn't even live near the ocean."

"How do you do it?" Barney marvels.

"Do what?"

"Have a know-it-all teacher voice even when you're an architect and a professor of nothing except how _not_ to get laid."

Marshall gives a low "Ohhhh" acknowledging the burn and Ted turns to him good-naturedly. "Isn't a best friend supposed to be on my side?"

"_I'm_ your best friend," Barney seamlessly corrects.

"Quasimodo was the guy with the hunchback," Marshall explains to Barney. "I think you're thinking of Blackbeard." He chuckles to himself, laughing at a joke he has yet to make. "Or maybe Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Please," Barney dismisses. "Everyone knows you're supposed to root for Barbosa. Anyway, I _meant_ Quasimodo. Guy with the patch over his left eye, looks like some sort of monster so everyone's afraid of him and no one believes he's actually nice."

"Quasimodo did not have an eye patch," Ted continues to argue.

"Uh, he must certainly did," Barney stands firm.

"Dude, I think that was just a big wart," Marshall offers helpfully.

"In the cartoon it was some kind of growth," Lily puts in, getting up to make her way to the kitchen. "Or just a droopy eye," she shrugs.

"The point is," Barney brings it back around to topic, "you let your boyfriend almost blind you. That kind of thing wouldn't happen if _I_ was the one you were banging. The only one-eyed monster you'd have to contend with would be mine." He gives her a salacious wink and she shoves him away playfully as she walks by. "No, really," he adds seriously, following her into the kitchen and leaning against the doorjamb. "How'd it go today?"

"The eyepatch came off this afternoon," she replies, handing him a beer from the fridge. "The doctor says everything's fine."

"I still feel terrible," Marshall mumbles regretfully from the other room.

"It's done now, and I can see perfectly." She smiles lovingly to him. "So there's no reason to feel bad, Marshmallow."

"Yeah, Marshmallow," Barney teases, walking back into the living room and claiming the red chair. "Good thing nothing important was happening that night….."

Lily nods her agreement. "Just a run-of-the-mill Friday." She busies herself putting the finishing touches on her seared scallops with mango chutney to go out first, along with Marshall's cheese plate.

"Hey, now that Lily's in the kitchen," Ted whispers to Marshall, "you gonna tells us when you plan on proposing again?"

Marshall leans forward on the couch, adopting Ted's hushed tone. "I don't have a specific time in mind."

"What – _really_?" Ted questions in surprise.

"Great, you're finally having second thoughts!" Barney jokingly cheers him.

"_No_. I'm not," Marshall assures them. "But, when everything went wrong the first time, I realized that when I propose to Lily I want it to be a really special moment, not just on an average night when she's cranky from work and we're bickering over everyday stuff."

Ted nods his understanding. "I get that."

When Lily walks back into the room carrying her appetizer, Marshall gasps, "The Gouda!" and rushes into the kitchen after his sturdy cheese-bearing cracker platter.

"So how'd your big play go Saturday night?" Lily asks Barney.

For a second, Barney has no idea what she's talking about but then remembers in the nick of time the lie he told them so that he and Robin could have MacLaren's to themselves, the story about a new play so off-putting even they couldn't bear to watch it go down in real time.

"That one was farfetched even for you. Did it actually work?" Ted wonders, clearly a bit vicariously thrilled at the notion.

"I still think "The Two Can Play At That Game" is one of your most despicable plays yet," Marshall opines as he sets down his cheese tray on the table. "Even if you don't want it for yourself, don't you have respect for the sanctity of _anyone's_ marriage?" However, in the next breath he adds with genuine fascination, "But yeah, did you pull it off?"

"If by 'pull it off' you mean her dress, then the answer is yes." Barney smirks wickedly. "And FYI, my list of every dirty way they've enjoyed each other's bodies included bent over the dumpster in the back alley behind MacLaren's." He gives a tongue click along with a raised eyebrow that's simultaneously victorious and lecherous.

"Ugg, you're disgusting," Lily moans.

"I can't believe she bought that," Marshall marvels.

Ted just gives Barney's raised hand a high five. "Whoever she was, she must have been seriously drunk to think _you_ could be married."

"Wait, so is that the end of the play," Marshall attempts to piece it all together, "or do you keep seeing her to finish off the list?"

Despite the fact that "The Two Can Play At That Game" does indeed exist in _The Playbook_, not only is it a complete lie that Barney performed it on Saturday, he in fact has never tried it out. Still, he makes a show of pondering Marshall's questions. "Hmm, I hadn't really thought that far."

"Well, you ruined some girl's marriage, but as long as you didn't think it through then that makes it okay," Ted derides.

Barney ignores him, still replying to Marshall. "She was a 7 at best _and_ she wasn't even into anything kinky, so I doubt it's worth the risk of a repeat performance. But that still counts as having pulled it off," he's careful to make clear.

Marshall shakes his head in wonder. "What are you gonna try next?"

"I bet it's "The Lorenzo Von Matterhorn," Ted speculates.

It's dizzyingly hypocritical the way Ted swings back and forth between scorning Barney's plays like he's above all that and then a minute later not only excitedly cheering them on but outright participating in them – as both the wingman and the lead – but Barney overlooks it now as he always does and merely opens his mouth to reply, but Lily cuts him off.

"Are you _really_ going to keep doing this stuff? I mean, sure, it provides us with some entertainment we all laugh about and place bets on, but what's the point?"

"I…cannot…believe my ears," Barney says slowly. He's only just getting started on a discourse of the joys of sleeping around, complete with fake history lesson, when her boyfriend preempts him.

"Lily's right."

Barney gasps. "You too, Marshall?"

"Well, there's not much sport to it anymore when the end result is a foregone conclusion."

"_What_? But – I – "

"Lawyered," Marshall interrupts Barney's sputtering, shrugging as if to say he can't help simply stating the facts.

"This is why I spend my Sundays with James," Barney pouts.

"It's true, though," Marshall upholds. "My Lilypad excluded," he smiles over to his girlfriend, "_is_ there any woman left who you can't get to sleep with you, by duplicitous means or otherwise?" He waits a moment to let the others try to come up with one, but silence reigns.

While Barney appreciates the irony in the fact that he alone can immediately think of just such a lady, the absurdly attractive and equally shrewd Ms. Robin Scherbatsky, he doesn't offer that answer aloud, both because they don't know her – and he intends to keep it that way – and because he'd never admit to them that such a woman exists – and one he wants _this_ badly – who has repeatedly turned him down.

"But dude, you are still gonna keep trying to pick up a lesbian, right?" Ted questions hopefully.

"Oh, that challenge _will_ be completed," Barney declares with resolve.

"Speaking of James," Lily changes the subject, "I haven't seen him for a while. "How is he?"

"_Terrible_. He even ditched me Sunday afternoon."

That surprises Ted. As long as he's known Barney, Sundays have always been his and James' broing out day. "Why? What's wrong?"

Barney takes a deep breath as if what he's about to say is difficult to impart. "James…..has a _boyfriend_," he finishes in disgust.

"Really? Good for him," Ted responds, and Lily also nods her approval.

"But that's got to be hard on you, right?" Marshall mentions.

"Oh yeah," Lily realizes, thinking beyond her joy for James to what this must be doing to Barney. "Your adopted brother espousing a lifestyle you despise. That _must_ be difficult."

Barney only shrugs. "Meh, it's his funeral. That's what I've always said about Marshall. I'm not going to disown him, even if he has chosen an alternative lifestyle."

"I don't really think monogamy is considered an 'alternative lifestyle'," Ted mentions

"Besides," Barney continues, "it's not like he was my _only_ wingman."

"That's right, buddy." Ted throws his arm around him. "You've still got me – and Teddy Westside knows how to bring it."

"See, Ted's the _perfect_ wingman. He turns off all the women and draws them straight to me."

"Hey!" Ted protests when Marshall laughs boisterously.

After that, the conversation turns to other topics as the four enjoy Lily's celebratory appetizers, along with plenty of beers, and the hours fly by. But before he heads out for the night, Lily manages to corner Barney in the kitchen.

"Hey," she says, finally finding the chance to pull him aside away from the others, "are you _really_ okay with this whole James thing?"

"Yes," Barney confirms without hesitation. A look of confusion clouds his features. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Lily is so used to Barney's deflecting by now that she doesn't even bother to dignify that with a serious answer. "When I asked earlier if you were really going to keep up with all the plays, I didn't mean it the way Marshall said. What I meant is that, eventually, there comes a time when all that playing around loses its appeal and you start to want something more. Don't you _ever_ feel that way?"

"Nope," he says, definitively snapping the 'p'.

She turns a disbelieving expression on him. "So you're saying that you always feel 100% fulfilled sneaking out of the latest bimbo's window?"

"Always completely satisfied."

Getting nowhere this way, Lily tries a different tactic. "Well, James has obviously reached that point." Abandonment has long been Barney's key trigger.

"Like I said, that's his loss."

Barney's answer was predictably nonchalant, but what's surprising to Lily is that she doesn't get the impression it's the least bit put-on. He actually _doesn't_ seem to be very upset about this.

"You don't feel like it's a betrayal, James putting a romantic relationship ahead of you?"

"Look, what James does is his own business." Barney indifferently takes one last swing of beer before preparing to head out. "I'm not thrilled about it, no, but it's not like I don't have my own things going on. Barney Stinson has plenty to keep him busy, believe you me."

Lily watches him as he heads for the door, and it continues to feel to her like something's off. He has Ted to bro around with, true enough, but she still thinks it's odd that Barney's not acting out about this. This boyfriend's very existence – and then James ditching him to be with said boyfriend – at any other time would leave Barney erupting against it, threatening to de-bro James, raging against _anyone_ who's ever been in a committed relationship.

Something's up. At the very least something's got Barney preoccupied so he doesn't mind about James's desertion.

Sighing, Lily turns away and goes back into the living room to join Marshall. After all, tonight is all about celebrating her narrowly evaded blindness. Still, she puts a pin in this Barney situation for later.

* * *

**AN**: Some have expressed they want to be completely surprised for the next chapter, but some liked the previews too, so I decided on a compromise where I'll only give a "**In the next chapter**" promo when I'm about to go on a hiatus to update my other story. That way it will give readers a taste of what to look forward to while they wait for the next update.


	16. Scars of the Past

"Promise you're not gonna laugh."

These very first words out of Robin's mouth, without even so much as a 'hi' before them, generate a reflexive smirk on Barney's lips. "I can't make any promises, Scherbatsky. But I _am_ excited to see where the magic happens."

"I take it that means you watched yesterday's broadcast."

"Around 1 a.m., after I got back from my friend's party. I was tempted to text you, but I thought it might be a bit soon in our relationship for a late-night sext," Barney flirts.

"A sext, about my broadcast?"

"What can I say? Your authoritative news anchor voice really turns me on." He waggles his eyebrow at her suggestively.

Robin shakes her head at him, not the least bit surprised. "_Everything_ turns you on. But remember, this is strictly a _bro_lationship."

He laughs, nodding at her stellar use of bro-phonics. "Nice….."

"Alright." She bites back her smile, still waiting for the real lampooning to begin. "Give me the worst of it."

"What?" he says innocently. But after a beat he adds, "I _loved_ your story about the chimp in rehab."

She gives a long, heavy sigh. "That was a serious piece on animal abuse in all its forms."

Barney snorts. "It was about a chimp who used to be the mascot at a – completely awesome, by the way – Russian casino where he became an alcoholic and chain smoker."

"Yes, and as an animal lover and owner of dogs, I – "

"Yeah, how have we not talked about that?" he interrupts her. "You have a one-bedroom in Park Slope, decent size," he shrugs, "but still a one-bedroom apartment, and yet you have _five_ dogs?"

Robin opens her mouth to further argue when a disconcerting thought occurs to her. "Wait, how do you know all that?" She'd never told him the size of her apartment or the existence of any pets, let alone the number of them.

He knows because the afternoon before, in a crusade to further rib him, James had run a basic-level FBI search under the name Robin Scherbatsky. Barney had refused to hear any of it, insisting he wanted to earn the information on his own directly from her, but James still let a few rudimentary facts slip, such as her apartment size and number and her ownership of five canines, information that turned up in border records since rabies vaccination certificates are required for all dogs entering the United States.

Of course Barney can't and won't tell her all that. "Please," he waves her off instead, offering no further explanation despite Robin's dubious frown. "Do you actually still have them all in Brooklyn?"

As pathetic as Robin knows it sounds, her dogs have been almost like kids to her and discussion about them instantly brightens her expression. "Yep, all five of them. A mastiff, a Dalmatian, a Chihuahua – "

"A Portuguese Podengo, and a terrier mix breed," he finishes for her.

She shakes her head in mistrustful awe. "I don't even want to know, do I?"

"It's probably best you don't," Barney confirms enigmatically. "…..Anyway, back to your broadcast yesterday. Keeping monkeys as commercial mascots was outlawed, the chimp was adopted by a nice zoo, but he still didn't kick the habit because visitors kept tossing him cigarettes and beer. While far from a 'serious piece', as you put it, it was a hilarious tale _and_ sounds like a pretty great life for that monkey – till they sent him off to rehab." Barney tsks in pity. "I bet they denied him conjugal visits too."

"I'll have you know that was a compelling story on the dangers of – okay, yeah, it was a total fluff piece," Robin admits. She's reached the point where she can't even fool herself that what she does matters. "That's the first ugly truth you need to know: I'm not exactly highly respected around here. In fact, I'm basically a nobody. Sandy Rivers is the face of Metro News One."

"I _like_ that guy!" Barney enthuses at the mention of his name. "I didn't know he works for this channel." While he's never actually watched Sandy Rivers in action, his suited-up visage adorns a couple of billboards Barney's seen around the city. "Seems like a solid bro."

Robin expels a frustrated huff of air. "He's the biggest male chauvinist in existence. He also tries to get me to sleep with him on a daily basis, despite my repeatedly telling him I don't date coworkers."

"Excellent rule. Platinum Rule," Barney concurs. "And I changed my mind; don't like the guy so much anymore."

"No one does, but for some reason his morning segment lands our highest ratings. Here I am working my ass off, and all Sandy does is literally flip through newspapers and read them aloud."

Barney laughs. "You're kidding."

"I'm sorry to say I am not. _In Today's Paper_ is the name of his segment – because the producers of Metro News 1 would much rather focus on idiotic filler pieces than bother to report serious news."

Barney can plainly see Robin hates it here, which begs the question why she bothers staying around at a place where she's already told him her talents aren't appreciated – and there's one thing he's certain above all else when it comes to Robin Scherbatsky: she should _always_ be properly appreciated. "So why work here?" he asks, wondering why she subjects herself to it day after day when she's obviously receiving zero professional fulfillment.

"New York is a highly competitive market. A field reporter for Metro News 1 was the only job I could get here," Robin explains. "I'm not exactly in Red Deer anymore." She shrugs in disillusionment. "I had so much ambition when I started here. I thought that with ingenuity and drive I could work my way up in no time. But that is clearly not happening."

"Well, it's only been two months," he offers.

"That's true, but it's going to be a serious uphill climb. It's hard to make change when you're the only one who wants it." She laughs humorlessly, running a hand through her hair. "My mom warned me this was a dead-end job when I took it, but I was determined to get away."

"From Canada? Who could blame you?" Barney scoffs.

Contrary to his zealously patriotic beliefs, it wasn't about Canada at all. She loved her home country, and as much as she adores New York she does get homesick now and then. It was the bad memories, her upbringing….mostly just her parents that she was trying to escape. Plus, she wanted – _still_ wants – to make it big, and there's nothing bigger than New York City. "So that's the sad tale of how I ended up here."

Barney lets it go with a nod. He can tell she'd like to change the subject and he willingly obliges. "Do I at least get a tour of the place as promised?" he wheedles.

"Sure," Robin smiles, "but just remember, we're the most low-budget cable news network pretty much _ever_."

Though Metro News 1 is far too low-key for such things as security to contend with, Robin had wisely arranged to meet Barney right at the building's door so she could personally escort him from the lobby through the offices to the news studio. Everything she knows about Barney tells her the less unsupervised wandering he does, the better.

When they do arrive at the studio, it's exactly as Barney saw it early this morning on his bedroom flat screen, meaning a whole lot of mahogany: wood paneled backgrounds on the right and left with just a small screen sandwiched between that projects an image of the cityscape, and a large wooden desk with _Metro News 1_ blazoned across in white lettering. It's about as simplistic as any news set could be, and though he didn't think it was possible somehow it's even smaller in person than it looks on TV.

"So, this is the teleprompter where Sandy reads all his stories that don't come word-for-word from the paper." Robin sniggers sardonically. "Or, in his case, often from the pictures alone."

"Is he like Ron Burgundy?" Barney probes, dreaming up a humorously ingenious way for life to imitate art while furthering Robin's career all at the same time. "Will Sandy read anything that's on there?" He's already bursting with childlike enthusiasm at the very thought.

"Sadly, no," she laughs. "While he _is_ like Ron Burgundy in virtually every other way, he has a very nasty habit of going off-script with commentary of his own. We'd be riddled with FCC indecency fines if anyone actually watched our broadcasts."

Walking across the small studio, Robin turns to face the cameras and Barney, leaning back against the desk. "This is obviously the anchor desk." Despite their low viewership, the unprofessional environment, and their near total lack of serious journalism, Metro News 1 is still a broadcast outlet in New York City – which means being an anchor here is nothing to turn your nose up at as far as she's concerned. "One day I plan to sit here."

"Well then…." Barney comes over to join her and suggests temptingly, "Why don't you try it out?"

"What do you mean?" Robin smiles unsurely.

"Go sit at the desk."

"Right now?"

"Sure, why not?" he shrugs.

Still looking skeptical, she nevertheless gets up and walks around the news desk to sit in the anchor's chair, muttering, "This is silly."

At first Barney just watches her, watches the hopeful pride flush over her features at sitting in her dream spot. Then he leans down over the desk to face her eye-to-eye. "Feels good, right? ...That's the first time I've ever said that in a nonsexual way." Robin giggles softly, her plump lower lip stretching into a dazzling smile, and he feels a stirring in his groin that's definitely in a very sexual way.

"You know, it actually really does feel good," she replies.

"Tell me that story you were hoping to pitch last week."

"That was nothing; it was stupid. It obviously didn't happen, so it – "

"It's not stupid," he insists. "I want to hear it. Go ahead; deliver the news to your viewer."

"Barney," Robin protests, worrying her lower lip. "This is – I….I don't even have the copy."

He shoots her a shrewd look. "Come on, I know you've got it memorized."

"Okay, maybe I do," she relents.

"So give the story. Just as if you were on the air."

"Alright." Robin fluffs up her hair, straightens her blouse, and launches into her honed news anchor voice with complete professionalism. "A new study has revealed synthetic nitrogen fertilizer is a far more serious problem than originally thought, still plaguing the affected regions more than thirty years later. Nearly 15% of the fertilizer applied in the 1980s still remains in the soil today, and 10% of that fertilizer has seeped through into the groundwater. Estimates show it will continue to contaminate groundwater for at least the next fifty years, leading to a generational – "

"Stop right there," Barney interjects, and she waits for him to make some crack about how bored he is. "Scherbatsky, you're a natural."

"Really?" she responds, taken aback.

"Yes, really. I couldn't care less about groundwater pollution – and GNB is probably responsible for it, though you didn't hear that from me. But with you delivering the story, I actually want to hear more."

Robin's brow furrows in wary contemplation, until suddenly her expression transforms into a resigned smile. "Right. Because of the way the backlight makes my shirt see-through." She gestures down to her white silk blouse.

"No," Barney smirks, his gaze traveling down to her breasts. "But I'll be sure to keep an eye out from now on." And he throws her a wink as she gets up from the anchor seat and walks back around the desk to stand beside him. "It's because you're a damn good journalist, Robin," he tells her in what she's already come to recognize as his Sincere Barney voice. "Don't let anyone make you believe otherwise."

She had expected the jester, the player, Broda, and Robin realizes now what an unfair assumption that was. Already in her short time knowing him, Barney has proven at times – the times that really count – to be quite sweet and thoughtful. He _is_ all those other things she expected too, but above all he's a great friend, so of course at a time when she's discouraged he'd offer sincere support, not mockery. He really is remarkable, and every second more she spends with him she couldn't be happier that she accepted Patrice's invitation to MacLaren's that night she met him. "Thanks, Barney," she smiles, reaching up to touch his arm.

Barney warmly returns her smile, nodding over to the anchor's seat. "You'll get there eventually. I don't doubt it for a second."

Robin can't deny she finds it utterly attractive when he's being sweet this way, and with that added softness to his voice…..This side of Barney, along with the crazy-fun-clever side, is a lethal combination. If he were literally any other man, they'd be making out right now. As it is, the urge to kiss him is overwhelming.

Clearing her throat, Robin averts her gaze – and makes her escape over to the refreshments table. "Continuing our little tour, this is the coffee area," she declares, extending her hands over the small table.

It consists of an archaic looking coffeemaker and two pots, one brown handled and one orange, he assumes to denote the difference between decaf and regular – though, going by everything he knows about the station, he wouldn't be surprised if they were both the same thing. Next to the coffee maker and stack of paper cups sits on open donut box with a handful of fairly stale looking donuts still inside.

"Here," Robin says, picking a cup off the pile and filling it from the brown handled pot. "As an honorary member of the Metro News 1 team and probably our only viewer, you're certainly entitled to a free cup of coffee. But I warn you, the quality of our coffee is no better than the quality of our news."

Barney starts to reply, but in the distant hallway Robin catches a flash of pink that immediately sets her on guard. She drops the cup of coffee like a rock and grabs his arm, pulling him into the nearest doorway, which happens to be the one to her makeshift dressing room.

Pushing him back against the door with her body, closing it in the process, Robin places two fingers over his mouth alerting him to be quiet. A beat goes by, during which they can hear footsteps just outside the door….and then slowly passing by. She breathes a sigh of relief, removing her fingers from across Barney's mouth – but not before awareness registers of how soft his lips feel against her skin, sending a rush of wanting through her.

"Robin, I'm all for banging in a closet. But for what I've got in mind with you, the wide open spaces of my king size bed would better suit our purpose."

It's only then that she realizes she's still leaning her full body into his. Intensely feeling every last place they touch, she backs off him like a shot. "We are not banging. And this _isn't_ a closet." With mustered dignity, she informs him, "This is my dressing room."

"You're joking."

"No, it actually is."

She flicks on the light and he can see that, while the room really isn't much bigger than a closet, an attempt has been made to convert it into a livable space, with papers of jotted notes and a laptop residing alongside foundation and brushes on a makeup table built into the wall.

"Wow, you are serious," he mutters unconsciously.

His tone just revealed how meager he considers his surroundings. But, pitiful as it is, this is her office. "Yes," Robin confirms, straightening the cuffs of her blazer in an attempt to seem far more confident than she is, "and, for your information, what we're doing is hiding out from my assistant."

"Male or female?"

"Female."

"Well, bring her in and let's get this three-way on!" Barney claps his hands together. "Wait – is she cute? Would I like her?"

"She happens to have a very committed boyfriend."

"Just as well." He reaches up to toy with Robin's collar. "A two-way it is."

"Sorry, you're going to have to settle for a one-way."

Barney arches an eyebrow. "Oh, I get it. You like to watch. I've never been one to disappoint a woman, so…."

He goes for his belt buckle and she shoves his hands away. "Will you stop?" she says in amused exasperation.

He drops the pretense, but a smile still colors his face as he looks her square in the eye. "Then tell me why we're hiding from your assistant. Doesn't she respect you either?"

Robin sighs. "No, it's not like that. Patrice and I are friends. If anything, she respects me _too_ much. But if she sees you, she'll take an immediate interest."

Barney makes an obvious sound in his throat as he waves a hand over his body. "Naturally." And he straightens his tie in his trademark sleazy-sexy way.

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "Not an interest as in I-want-to-sleep-with-him. An interest as in I'm-never-going-to-leave-the-two-of-them-alone and you'll be talking to her all afternoon."

"Well then, you made the right call."

"Told ya."

She pulls him out a chair from beneath the makeup table and he takes it from her, placing its back against the door while she turns the remaining chair to face him.

"I have an unopened bottled water on my desk that I can offer you."

"No need." Sitting down, Barney pulls a flask out of his pocket and Robin laughs.

"Do you always travel with a flask of scotch?" she asks, having a seat along with him.

"Don't you?" He takes a swing and passes it toward her.

For a moment, she mulls over the proffered flask, weighing professionalism versus her urge to sip the Johnny Walker Blue she knows he's carrying. "I don't ordinarily drink on the job, but….." She gestures around them at her current situation, forced to hide out in a closet-sized office just to avoid answering to idle gossip. This is worse than high school. "What the hell." She grabs it and takes a swig.

"That's the spirit, Scherbatsky!"

Robin wipes her mouth, handing the flask off to him. "So, family. Mine brought me here, unintentionally or otherwise. What about you? You obviously have a mother."

"We all do," he grins.

"Yes, but I mean you've talked about her. And you never did answer my question of whether you have any brothers or sisters."

Barney shakes his head 'no'. "I have neither, biologically speaking." He takes his drink, passing her back the scotch, and Robin assumes that signals all the more he has to say on the subject, but after a pause he continues. "For the longest time, it was just me and my mom. And then James moved in next door when I was seven."

"James, the coworker you told me about?"

"Yeah."

She wonders if he can feel the involuntary smile that's stretched across his lips. "He must be a pretty neat guy for you to have stayed in contact with him all these years. I don't talk to any of my childhood friends."

"Well, James is more than just a friend. We've been like siblings since childhood. 'Mon frère blanc', James calls me."

"My white brother," Robin translates with a smile. "I take it that means James is – "

"Black?" Barney finishes offhandedly. "Yeah, he is. But never mind that, you speak French?"

She nods. "With my Canadian roots that you so love to mock, I just assumed that you'd assume I did."

"That's right." Barney taps his temple. "All those Frenchies up there. Good God, your country is messed up!"

Robin ignores him, countering with, "The bigger question is how do _you_ speak French?"

"Scherbatsky, I've gone to college; I'm not an animal." He raises a finger up. "Actually, I've found that speaking a number of languages is extremely helpful to my career – both professionally and personally speaking," he slyly adds, moving in closer. "And, yes, that means exactly what you think. I can talk dirty to you in more languages than you can count on two hands, including but not limited to: French, Japanese, German, Spanish, Mandarin, Russian, Korean, Chinese, and of course English."

Despite herself, Robin can't help imagining that in Spanish or French, the two languages she's dabbled in and always thought sounded the sexiest.

Correctly reading her interest, Barney offers, "Would you like to hear a sample now?"

"No, not particu – "

But he cuts her off, whispering seductively in the language he knows she understands, "Banquiers sont de meilleurs amants."

Robin laughs softly, biting her lip. Though she'd once taunted him that such a pickup line would never work, he actually had managed to make an approximate translation of 'bankers do it better' sound both incredibly sexy and believable. "You're crazy," she tells him affectionately. "Is that a trait you and James have in common?"

"You'd probably say so," Barney replies, contemplating how best to describe him. "James is two years older than me. He was nine to my seven when he first moved in. His mom had run out on them when he was a baby, so it was just him and his dad, Sam. We all got to know each other, but it was a different time back then. Sam and my mom were both hard partiers. My mom was a groupie for Grand Funk Railroad _and_ ZZ Top."

He said it as if it was some kind of proud accomplishment, and out of compassion Robin nods along, making a vague humming sound as if she too finds it an achievement worth noting.

"Not long after they moved in Sam recognized he needed to set a better example, and his influence helped my mom reform too." Barney smiles fondly, remembering back to his childhood. "Instead of going out on the road, they'd have these barbeques in the backyard with the four of us. It was nice having a guy around – I hadn't had that since I last saw my Uncle Jerry a couple years back – and James and I had almost everything in common. We used to have these epic Dungeons and Dragons battles; it was the best."

"Aww, you had a fellow little nerd to be friends with," she teases him.

"Hardly," he scoffs. "James was the coolest, and so was his dad. Sam used to be in a jazz band – and that man can dance! Some nights we'd have jam sessions, James on the guitar, Sam on the piano – he taught me how to play – and all three of us on vocals. Those first six months were awesome. But then the landlord started threatening to kick them out of their new house, and James had already spent his entire life moving around from place to place because of his dad's debt issues, so Sam decided to join the military as a way to provide for his son and help get his life together once and for all. He was just trying to be a responsible dad, provide some stability. It was easier to understand that the older we got, but even as kids after he first enlisted it was still great. Things got complicated when he ended up stationed overseas. James moved in with us and we were raised like brothers from then on. Sam would come home on visits when he could, and there were cards, letters, and phone calls, but it meant James grew up without a dad around either."

"But he had a mom now," Robin points out.

"Yeah, he did. My mother loves him just like a son, and he calls her 'Mom'. James would be the first to say moving into the little Staten Island house that happened to be next door to ours was the luckiest thing that ever happened to him, and it was for me too," Barney reveals. "James ended up living with us until he went off to college. I followed him two years later and we were dormmates until we could afford an off-campus apartment."

James had always planned to go into law enforcement and the FBI, while Barney studied math and finance – and dated Shannon. Ending up in the FBI alongside James was something neither one of them ever dreamed at the time.

"After we graduated, James and I _crushed_ our twenties. It was perfect when he came out in college; he had all the guys and it left all the ladies for me. Since there was never any crossover in targets, we could always be there for each other with the assist. Together we were a lethal combination. One time we even scored the brother/sister combo!" Barney declares excitedly. "Now he claims to be in a relationship," he discloses with a shrug, "but we still work together, so that's awesome."

"Whatever happened to Sam?" Robin gently asks.

"He finally was able to retire and come home. By then he'd earned enough to put James through college and buy a nice house on Long Island not too far away from the original neighborhood. James and his dad are really close now, and I see him sometimes too." Barney laughs to himself. "He actually became a minister."

Her eyes widen in shock. "You're friends with a minister?"

"Well, he kind of has to be because of James – but he's constantly asking me to remove him from my email lists."

"Yeah. I bet."

"I never do," he smirks.

"I'm sure of that too."

Barney sniggers wickedly. "But seriously, Sam's a good guy. He and my mom didn't stay in touch after he got back though, which seems odd since they were once such great friends, but I guess that happens over time."

All at once, Barney realizes he's just shared a lot of extremely personal information with her, something that he never does. It leaves him feeling suddenly uncomfortable and exposed. "Anyway," he mutters, shifting in his chair, "to sum up, James is my gay black brother from another mother."

Robin smiles. "Does he always wear suits too?"

"_Of course_. He has an impeccable sartorial knowledge. He learned it from me," he informs her, as if anything else would be absurd. "And he has his own laser tag team and a blog. He is the awesome-est, most best looking-est, greatest guy ever."

"He sounds exactly like you."

"Uh, that's what I just said," Barney reiterates, taking a swig of scotch and then passing the flask back for her turn as they've been doing throughout the conversation. "What about your family?"

Robin never speaks of her family. Ever. Too many bad memories, too much pain to open up that Pandora's Box...But he _did_ tell her about his family, and she gets the feeling he doesn't often tell the truth about his background either. "Well," she begins tentatively, "there isn't much to tell."

It's obvious from her tone and change of demeanor that's not true, and Barney gives her a silent look saying as much.

One open admission deserves another, she figures – and one thing she's certain about Barney is that he'd never judge her. "Alright, we were a majorly dysfunctional family worthy of our own Oprah special," she concedes.

"That sounds more like it."

"My parents had a _terrible_ marriage. I cannot emphasis that enough. Just – terrible. My dad was…" Robin hesitates, not even knowing where to begin with him. She finally settles on, "….rich and powerful and used to having things his way. Nothing was going to make a difference in him achieving that, least of all marriage vows. My mom put up with affair after affair. Eventually, he settled on one long-term mistress, Brandy. She was always around and it was so creepy. I was forced into these dismally awkward, painfully uncomfortable 'family dinners' with the three of them where everyone just acted like it was normal, but I knew the whole time what was going on. Then, when I was nine, I accidentally walked in on my parents having a three-way with her."

"Wow."

"Yep."

"That's about the only time when even I can't find a three-way awesome."

"It was anything but. The only one who seemed the least bit concerned at the interruption was my mom. She came to check on me – "

"Well, that's good at least."

"You didn't let me finish," Robin sardonically adjoins. "She came to check on me _an hour later, _once they were finished."

Barney frowns. That really is horrible. Even as enthusiastic about sex as he is, he can't imagine having your kid walk in on you in a traumatizing situation like that and then just continuing on for the next hour until you've had your fill.

"In her defense, I don't think my mom was actually into it," Robin continues. "I think it was just her attempt to keep him interested. It was obvious she was miserable in the marriage. We were _all_ miserable….None of us had what we wanted."

She left the statement intentionally vague and Barney gets the impression there's much more behind it that she _isn't_ saying.

"In any case, they finally decided to separate for good when I was ten." The next part Robin tells with purposefully averted eyes lest he read something there she isn't prepared to talk about. "My dad always wanted a son and my mom was pregnant again – as a result of the three-way, I'm guessing. They divorced right after she gave birth to his second child and it was yet another girl. After that, my mother took my younger sister, Katie, and moved away." She shrugs in an attempt at nonchalance. "I stayed with my father."

Barney's tried to remain diplomatic hearing all this but the aghast words leave him before he can censor them. "She took your sister but not you?"

"My mom got sole custody of Katie in exchange for not fighting my dad for sole custody of me," Robin explains.

"_Why_?" Barney blurts, dumbfounded and more than a bit appalled. His childhood may have been less than picture perfect, but his mother always loved him. He _always_ had that love. As a grown man now himself, he can't understand how anyone could just abandon their kid like that. He thinks the same thing about his dad at times too, but it's even worse when the parent actually knew and spent time with the child. "Why would she agree to that? You were her daughter too."

"Well, my – my sister was a baby," Robin responds, sounding off-guard and unprepared to answer this question. He just isn't sure if it's because she doesn't get asked often, or if it's because deep down it's the same question she's always asked herself.

"Yeah, but you were just a kid too, Robin," he argues on her behalf. "You still needed your mom."

"I did alright." The edge of defensiveness in her voice now tells him it was the latter.

Seeing the hurt beneath the surface, Barney eases back and tries to be tactful for her sake, regardless of his personal feelings toward her parents. "But maybe they just did what they had to do. You dad didn't fight to keep your sister either, so I guess it was just an even split, like that _Parent Trap_ movie."

"Right. Exactly."

"And I'm sure she still visited plenty," he says helpfully. "Or did you go to her? I've never even met my dad, so I don't really know how this divorce thing works.

For a second time, Robin can't meet his eyes. "I didn't see my mom again until right before I turned 15, when I went to live with her permanently until I left for college." And that little interlude of mall travels, she adds silently.

"Oh." For once in his life, Barney's left without an easy response. "Well…..I've seen firsthand how hard it is to be a single mom. You know, your mother, all by herself, raising your infant sister. That must've been it."

She looks up at him now. Their gazes meet and hold, and they both know he's not fooling anyone.

This time, he goes with the truth. "'They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had and add some extra, just for you. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can. And don't have any kids yourself.' That's my philosophy, anyway."

For several seconds, Robin blinks at him. "Did you just recite poetry to me?"

"Philip Larkin."

"Barney Stinson, you are an enigma."

"Not really. I'm an easy riddle to solve: 'If you're ready, I'm willing and able. Help me lay my cards out on the table. You're mine, and I'm yours for the taking. What you get ain't always what you see, but satisfaction is guaranteed'_._"

"Another poem?"

"Bon Jovi."

His answer, and the way he said it – as if it's thoroughly more awesome than mere poetry – induces a smile. "Ahh."

"I'll play it for you on my phone while I take you to lunch," Barney announces, getting up from the chair and pulling her up too.

"What, you don't want to keep getting drunk with me in a closet?" she teases.

He turns on that full Barney Stinson swagger, his voice dropping low, all smooth and seductive. "Not unless you've got a better way to fill the next forty minutes. _I can show you how to fly and never, ever come back down_!" he sings to her.

"Come on, you idiot," Robin laughs, taking his arm and heading for the door.


	17. Platonic?

By the time two weeks have passed a midday lunch together has become a semiregular thing for Robin and Barney. Whenever one of the two is bored – which for Robin is, sadly, quite often – a text will go out like the bat signal and the other will do whatever it takes to arrange a meet-up to "inject the day with a little awesome" as Barney puts it.

"Okay, that is out there even for you," Robin asserts, continuing their conversation as they walk back into the studio. "You did not really pick up a girl by shining a light at her pupils, calling the paramedics, and saying you needed to rush her to the hospital because she'd had a terrible fall straight out of heaven."

Barney cackles evilly. "I _did_. She gave me her number – and, four days later, gave me a whole lot more!"

Robin groans in disgust. "Maybe she really did have a brain injury."

Her nods his head to the side, acknowledging her fair point. "Judging by a few of her techniques, you may be right." And he chuckles at her answering shudder.

"I can't believe you did that as a _birthday_ _present_ for a friend. Granted, it would be interesting to watch," she reconsiders,

"Successfully managing such a lame play – that my friend erroneously called 'the greatest pickup line of all time', by the way – was the gift. The end result was all for me."

"I didn't doubt it. And, no offense, but you may need to get better friends if he seriously thought that was anything approaching a good pickup line."

Barney laughs softly. "You're right about that. He _is_ a particularly difficult student, cursed with an especially strong lame gene. But then I suspect most of the appeal was in watching the show: either I pulled off something truly magnificent, or he got to witness a drink thrown in my face – something that ordinarily happens to _him_ when he tries to use those lines."

Robin can't help smiling at that. "All that was why your friend wanted to see it, but what was in it for you?" One glance at the look on his face makes her augment, "Other than the obvious should you happen to succeed."

"Which I did," he gloats.

"Which you did," she nods. "Although I'm sure you could have chosen someone else for sex that night, or had sex with that same girl through some other pickup. So why put yourself through the potential embarrassment?"

"What embarrassment? I _always_ get the yes."

She grins at him expectantly. "No really, why'd you do it?"

Barney knows full-well no BS answer is going to satisfy her, but he need only consider it for half a second before the actual truth emerges. "For the challenge. For the bragging rights. To entertain the unfortunately unawesome masses."

Robin has no problem believing not only that Barney would do anything to amuse his friends but that he'd also love every second of being that center of attention of a whole group – or, in this case, a whole bar. Hanging on his every word, cheering him on like some kind of sexual superhero. "You're quite the exhibitionist, aren't you?"

"Me?" He rounds on her mischievously. "What about you and that UN guy?"

"First of all, he was from the mayor's office," she corrects him, mirroring his playful tone. "Secondly, no one actually saw anything. Third, it wasn't intentional exhibitionism, playing to the crowd like you. We didn't mean for anyone to walk in."

"Maybe not, but they did walk in," Barney points out. His voice slides down into a silken, wicked whisper. "And I _know_ that turned you on."

Of course he's right; it did. As does his tone and the way he's looking at her right now. To cover, she denies it full force but adjusts her own timbre just a little, just enough to torture him right back. "You have no idea what turns me on."

His eyebrow peaks provocatively. "A bigger lie has never been told. And that's coming from the author of _The Playbook_."

His little zinger, half self-deprecating – although with him it might be genuine pride – half truth, sets them back on an even keel away from the dangerous waters their interactions always tend to evolve towards. "Thanks for lunch, Barney," she smiles, her smile growing as an idea occurs to her. "You wanna stick around another hour and watch me do my remote? It's just across the street….with a man who claims to have invented the world's most innovative parking meter."

The loathsome way she revealed that last part lets him know all he needs to of her thoughts on the assignment, making Barney bite back a laugh. "I wish I could," he replies, honestly meaning it, "but I really do need to get back to GNB." The weeks are ticking by and he's still missing that last smoking gun needed to see Greg's ass in jail.

Robin shrugs at his polite brushoff, seemingly expecting it. "I can't say I blame you. Some people actually have real work to do."

"Hey," he says encouragingly, waiting until she meets his eyes. "You'll get there too. And in the meantime, you'll at least provide New York with some excellent eye candy," Barney assures her roguishly.

"Oh well then, as long as I'm providing _some_ service to the city," Robin smirks.

"You _definitely_ do. Particularly when I'm watching all alone in bed," he winks. His eyes trail over her purposefully libidinous just to make her laugh. However, when his gaze nears her temple the mask of lechery drops. "But wait – " Barney leans in close, reaching up and gently smoothing a piece of flyaway hair back down into place. "There," he smiles. "Now you're perfect." His hand lingers at her neck, his fingers still tangled in her hair, and for a moment everything else just fades away as they look at each other.

"Robin," a voice calls from down the hall, breaking the spell. "You have to see these – Oh, I'm sorry," she cuts off when she sees Robin apparently otherwise occupied.

Robin turns to Patrice, deliberately stepping back from Barney in the process. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You weren't interrupting anything. I was just coming back from lunch." Robin supposes this meeting couldn't be avoided forever, and when she notices Patrice eyeing Barney with eager suspicion, her mind no doubt bursting with more girlish ideas for them, she hopes to temporarily distract her by making polite introductions. "Patrice, this is – "

"You must be Robin's much-admired assistant," Barney cuts her off, edging between the two women to greet Patrice personally.

"Yes, I am!" Patrice gushes, thrilled that he knows who she is. Then she has second thoughts that her response might have sounded a bit boastful. "That is, I don't know about admired, but I am…I'm…."

Robin inwardly groans. His charisma has her babbling already and the last thing Barney needs is yet another adoring female.

Finally remembering her own name, Patrice offers her hand to shake. "Hi, I'm Patrice. And you must be Barney."

"Patrice," he repeats warmly. He shakes her proffered hand but doesn't letting go, continuing to hold her hand is his, looking deeply into her eyes as his standard glib flattery rolls off his tongue. "That's a beautiful dress you're wearing, Patrice, and you look beautiful in it."

Patrice giggles out an, "Ohhh, thanks. You really think so?" And it's clear that she's instantly smitten with him.

"Absolutely," Barney reiterates, holding her hand with both of his now.

Robin affectionately rolls her eyes at this proof that he simply can't resist hitting on every woman, making any and every woman he meets crush on him. But when she catches the way he's stroking Patrice's hand, Robin feels a twinge of something alarmingly close to jealousy, compounded by the way Barney's looking at Patrice like she's the only woman in the world.

"From the moment I saw you –

"Alright, that's enough of your charm." Robin steps in, batting his hands away from Patrice. "She has a boyfriend, remember?"

"That doesn't mean she's dead," Barney argues. "I specialize in tempting women away from other men."

Patrice's eyes widen, but then she smiles. "I'm sure that's not true."

"Actually, I'm sure it is," Robin drolly quips.

"Either way, I'd never do anything to come between you and Robin," Patrice promises him.

"Between us?" Robin scoffs as if the very idea is laughable. "There is nothing between us. Barney's not my boyfriend, Patrice."

Patrice looks to Barney for confirmation and he shakes his head in agreement. "Nope. I'm not."

"Besides," she continues, "I don't do relationships. And Barney doesn't do girlfriends."

Barney grins in amusement. "The only girlfriends I do are somebody else's. Up top!"

"So you say," Robin teases, ignoring his upraised hand, "but Patrice hasn't so much as batted an eyelash, have you, Patrice?"

"Barney's very handsome, that's for sure. But Joe is my honey bear."

"See," Robin gloats to Barney. "Not tempted in the slightest."

"Oh, I would never leave Joe," Patrice vows, sounding mildly scandalized.

All the while, Barney and Robin haven't taken their eyes off each other in their competitive, charged one-upmanship. "I bet if _Robin_ had a boyfriend I could entice her away."

Robin smirks at that. "You haven't even managed to entice me while I'm single."

"I haven't managed to _have_ you, but I'm positive I've already enticed you," he claims, his voice dropping low in seductive undertones as he lifts a finger and flicks the ruffle on the cap sleeve of her dress.

Robin is the first to break, shaking her head and smiling. "You are such an idiot. A complete lunatic. Why do I hang out with you?"

"Because you can't resist. And secretly you adore me."

"Keep dreaming."

"Oh, I will." He edges closer to her. "In fact, I'll see you tonight, Scherbatsky," he whispers with overstated lust like he's picturing it right now. "I'll light the candles, you bring the condoms."

"You don't need condoms in a dream, Barney."

"Bareback. Nice,"he nods, clicking his tongue at her. "Even better."

Robin laughs, shoving him playfully away. "Will you get out of her before Patrice thinks you're serious?"

"Fine," Barney relents. "I'll let you get back to work….But just so you know, I nod off around one – so about 1:10 it's gonna be me, and you on all fours." He winks at her as he starts to go.

"See ya, Barney," she grins, watching him walk out of the studio.

As soon as he's gone, she crosses over into her dressing room, ready to prepare for her remote, but Patrice follows hot on her heels.

"So that's Barney. He's so dreamy!" her assistant enthuses.

"Sure he is," Robin sarcastically retorts. "A regular Prince Charming. That's what he wants you to believe, that he's just like a dream – until the next thing you know you're naked on his bed and he's inside you in a _very_ real way."

Patrice studies her carefully and a wide smile breaks out on her face.

"What?" Robin questions.

"You don't say it like that's a bad thing. You say it the same way you talked about ice cream last week – right before you went on a Ben and Jerry's binge."

Robin blinks at her irritably. "Just what exactly are you implying, Patrice?"

"You don't have to be embarrassed to admit it," Patrice assures her, putting a comforting hand to her shoulder. "I could already tell there's something more than friendship between you."

"Just now?" Robin asks, dumbfounded, certain there was nothing in their behavior to give her that impression.

"Yes, now."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"You were flirting with each other," Patrice asserts, equally dumbfounded as to why Robin can't see it.

"Oh that," Robin laughs, waving it off. She's actually relieved to hear there wasn't some underlying obvious signal she was somehow missing. "That's just a thing we do. It's just for laughs."

"He's _attracted_ to you," Patrice states the obvious.

"Well, yeah. He's a man and I'm a woman. And – " She looks pointedly down her body, her eyes traveling meaningfully over her figure-hugging salmon dress that accentuates those curves men love. "That happens."

"No, it's more than just noticing you're pretty." Patrice smiles that same annoyingly shrewd grin from before. "And you notice him too."

"_What_? That's not even – I don't – You're crazy," Robin denies….until she becomes aware that now _she's_ the one who's babbling. "I mean, sure, Barney's a good-looking guy, but that doesn't mean – "

"Your eyes light up when you speak to him," Patrice reveals delightedly.

"They do not. That's insane."

"Yes, they do. And when I walked up to find you, you two looked ready to fall into each other's arms. It was like the last scene of a movie!" she raves, all dreamy eyed romance.

Robin sighs long-sufferingly. "Patrice, you are talking like a crazy person."

"Am I?" she counters. "You're blushing right now."

"I am _not_," Robin insists with growing exasperation.

Just then the makeup lady comes in and Robin couldn't be happier for the interruption that will put this ridiculous topic to a halt once and for all. She sits down at her makeup table/desk for Vicki to get to work, but after just a single look at her Vicki stops with her brush in midair.

"Did someone already apply your rouge?"

"_See_! I told you," Patrice crows, clapping her hands in glee. "You guys are _so_ not platonic."

"Nobody asked you, Patrice!"

* * *

**AN**: In answer to a reviewer's question, no, this story will not encompass eight whole years. You won't have to wait that long! From beginning to end, it will be about three and a half years' worth of story time passing in this AU retelling of the series (which isn't to say you necessarily have to wait that long to see Barney and Robin together; that's just how long it will be before the entire story is finished) but the pace is going to start picking up in terms of passage of time. Previously, it was moving in days but now is moving in weeks between chapters. I know it's a slow build-up (and I did say as much from the start), but I feel this part is crucial to establishing their later relationship and events of the story, so I've been keeping it purposefully thorough and honed in (at least it's not hour-by-hour like Season 9!).


	18. Daddy Issues

"I can't believe I'm insane enough to let you take me somewhere without first disclosing the location," Robin tells him while they motor through the streets of New York in the back of the town car, Ranjit once again at the wheel.

"Hey, the last time I surprised you it was with laser tag. And how many times have we been there in the past three weeks?"

"Four," Robin quietly admits, loath to give him any ground.

"That's right, you loved it," Barney glories in it. "And I think you'll like this place too."

She eyes him suspiciously. "This isn't part of some play, is it?"

He huffs out a laugh. "Far from it. I wouldn't ordinarily even take a woman here – but you're far from an ordinary woman."

"Thank you," she grins, fluffing up her hair and clearly enjoying his flattery. Just a beat later, however, she pins him with a mistrustful gaze. "So where are we going?"

"I'm still not telling you," Barney upholds. "Not until we're already there. Just in case you're not as cool as I thought you were."

"Oh, I'm not. Whatever you're thinking, I'm even better," Robin declares sassily.

Twenty-five minutes later they pull up at their destination and Robin steps out onto the sidewalk first, eager to determine where they are by the outside alone. Studying the building in front of them, a twinge of exhilaration begins to grow. "Barney, is this – " She cuts off when she reads the sign, gasping in excitement at the confirmation. "An American cigar bar! I haven't been to one yet."

He shoots her a confused expression. "What do you mean an _American_ cigar bar? You've been to other kinds?"

The question floods her with an abrupt feeling of self-consciousness brought on by the weight of years' worth of scrutiny – most of it negative – for knowing how to hunt and fish and play hockey, for enjoying cigars and scotch, for not being more traditionally feminine. "My dad had a cigar club up in Vancouver. I used to go with him sometimes," she answers off-handedly, downplaying its significance. "But I haven't been to one this side of the border."

"Well, you're in for a real treat."

Walking into Barney's cigar club, Robin is instantly at home. There are red velvets curtain tied back at the entrance. The lone window is all red and white geometric stained glass, blocking out the hustle and bustle of city streets beyond. Indeed, the main room is truly a world set apart: deep mahogany walls, tables, and bar; thick moss green carpet that feels like walking on a cloud; marble busts, framed cigar posters, large leaf ivy planters, and an antique floor globe to complete the ambience, as do the very expensive looking burgundy leather wingback chairs. It is the height of elite, masculine sophistication and it reminds Robin of her father's study, or of his own cigar club back in Vancouver when she was a young girl. She loves everything about it and is wholly in her element here.

Barney guides them over to his usual chair and as Robin seats herself next to him, still taking it all in, he can tell that she's way more into this than she initially let on – and, uncomfortably for her, she can tell that _he_ can tell.

"So," she begins, grasping at conversation in an effort to distract him without actually having anything particular to say. "What do you and your friends usually have?"

He openly scoffs at that. "Are you kidding? None of my friends have ever been here. You've already flown higher and faster than they ever did."

Robin is alarmingly pleased to hear that. The unsettling truth is, although he spends a great deal of time with her as it is, she doesn't like the idea of sharing him with these nebulous others. In fact, she kind of resents their existence; the very fact of them means he has other options. Knowing she's now experiencing a part of him that he's only ever shared with her is something she relishes to a disturbing degree.

Luckily, Barney calls over a waiter, saving her the trouble of any further introspection. The man already has Barney's customary scotch and cigar of choice on his tray, leading Robin to assume this must be a standing appointment for him.

Barney nods his thanks as he's served and, being a gracious host, begins to order something for Robin too. "Emilio, the woman will have – "

"I'll have a Johnny Walker Blue, neat, and a Montecristo No. 2. Thanks," Robin interjects. Old habits really do die hard and kicked in just now. She's always been a woman who wants what she wants and nothing less will satisfy her. Rather than feel insecure about it any longer, she decides to embrace it. _Screw it_, she thinks in a moment of rebellion against a lifetime of trying to please others. This is who she is, take it or leave it.

But Barney has no intentions of leaving it. He likes her all the more for her interruption and tips his head in respect to her choice. "Ahh, the No. 2, a.k.a. The Torpedo."

"Or, as the rollers call it, Piramide."

He looks at her, a mixture of surprised and impressed, and his eyebrow unconsciously lifts. Yet again, she's left his interest undeniably piqued. "You didn't just go with your dad _sometimes_," he says, a statement of fact, not a question.

"No," she confirms. "And when I was in college I found a cigar bar of my own."

He shoots her a grin, his eyes sparkling in admiration. "How'd you get to be so awesome?"

She smiles at his compliment but assumes he wants a legitimate explanation…..one, in this case, that happens to be the opposite of awesome. "My father was a scotch and cigar fanatic so I became an expert too. It was one of the only ways I could get his attention growing up."

"Daddy issues." Barney nods appreciatively. "Hot."

His so very Barney reaction makes Robin laugh. "I know. I was this close to being a huge slut," she admits.

That in turn makes him let out a dirty little laugh. "Slut _would_ have been better." Then, to her surprise, she sees the mask of glibness fade and a soft, affectionate smile take its place. "But I'll settle for bro," he tells her fondly.

And he truly means it. Having her as a bro is infinitely better than as a random one-night stand, even though it would mean having undoubtedly amazing sex with her, because this way he gets to actually _know_ her and experience the fun of her on a regular basis. All of that is something he'd ordinarily keep to himself, and he would have now too had it not been for the shadow of lingering anguish in her eyes that she tried so hard to hide. She made light of it, but he's certain there's a painful story there. One tortured soul recognizes another.

Robin isn't sure what it is, why it should affect her now – maybe it's all this unrest at work – but the hint of understanding she sees in Barney loosens her guard and causes a little more to slip out. "My dad, he always said how much of a disappointment I was. A huge failure, actually." The sad thing is just how spot-on he turned out to be. "I heard when he found out I was moving to New York he said he was certain I'd never make it…..Too bad he'll never know I proved him right. But I haven't spoken to him in three years, and I don't intend to start now."

As Barney processes that, his first thought is how much more dire her past must be than even he imagined. His second thought is that maybe there are worse things than simply never knowing your dad. His third but most pressing thought is to invalidate those callously false notions her father left her with. "You know, just because a person raised you, it doesn't mean they really know you – and it certainly doesn't mean they're always right. My mom once thought LeVar Burton played Lando Calrissian, so there you go."

His statement brings a smile of genuine amusement to Robin's lips, though she's positive that in his mind Barney was presenting a serious case.

"My point is that, to a kid, parents seem invincible and all-knowing, but they're just as fallible as anyone else." Barney frowns, rethinking that. "Well, except for my mom; other than her lack of Star Wars knowledge, she's pretty amazing. But your dad was wrong about you. And who says that to a kid anyway?" he reflects in exasperation. "It's the _job_ of adults to lie to kids so that they think the world's a great and wonderful place. That's how we ended up with the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, and the platypus."

"Barney, platypuses are real."

"Yeah, of course they are. Ha-wink," he says, doing just that. "Long story short, don't listen to your dad. You are inarguably awesome. Besides, dads aren't the be all and end all. If you ask me, dads are as overrated as Kim Kardashian's ass."

"Thank you, Barney," Robin smiles. It really is sweet how hard he's tried to make her feel better.

"But I'd still totally hit that," Barney blurts.

"I know you would," she nods.

Her scotch and cigar are delivered then and they both light up together. For a moment it's quiet as they each take a long draw, but Robin's thoughts are still lingering on their dad discussion. From the empathy he's shown her, she thinks a part of Barney must truly get it, a least a taste of what's it's like to grow up dysfunctional with a father who wishes you were someone else. She blows a smoke ring up into the air and muses, "Daddy issues….they really suck."

"They lead to a lot of sucking, that's for sure," he leeringly rejoins.

Robin smirks, shaking her head at him. "You mentioned you've never met your dad. If you don't mind my asking, what's the deal there? What are your daddy issues?"

Barney mulls it over for several seconds, ultimately opting to tell her the truth. "Have you ever seen the gameshow _The Price is Right_? And not that sorry Drew Carrey version. The original."

"Yeah, I have," she smiles, remembering back. "When I was a teenager, I used to watch it all the time."

He looks at her, puzzled. "It's on in the middle of the day." But that confusion soon melts into a rascally grin. "Do you mean to tell me that in addition to being a lady porn stealing sexual deviant, Teenage Robin was also a school skipper like me?"

The truth is during her extended mall tour back in her Robin Sparkles days she was able to catch quite a few daytime American television broadcasts, but she's still not about to reveal that part of her past to anyone. Instead, she tries for some misdirection. "I can't believe a kid nerdy enough to be an aspiring magician would actually skip school," she disbelievingly charges.

"Okay, I didn't skip," Barney mutters. "It would have broken my mother's heart. I just had a lot of half days."

"_Mommy_ issues too?" Robin's eyebrow shoots up. "Remind me to ask about that later."

"Ah-ah, there's no getting out of it, Scherbatsky. Back to you being a school skipper."

"I didn't skip. I just….had a more liberal schedule."

He's about to pry into that some more when he realizes. "Oh that's right, you're _Canadian_. Your awesomeness outweighs the general deficiencies of your upbringing enough to make me forget sometimes. Then you say something like 'liberal school schedules' – or, god forbid, the metric system – and it gives you away. Canada! You even get high school wrong!"

"Alright, before you go off on a 'Canada is so lame' tangent, what is this about _The Price Is Right_?" Robin sets him back on track.

"TPIR is not just an indescribably entertaining hour of television, Robin. It's a microcosm of our entire economic system," Barney dramatically expounds, "a capitalist utopia where consumers are rewarded for their persistence, market acumen, and intrepid spirit. I gaze upon the glory of _The Price Is Right_, and I see the face of America. And it is divine."

"Wow, Barney, I had no idea that you – "

"Plus, you know, hot chicks on sports cars."

Robin nods knowingly. "That's more like it. But what does any of this have to do with your dad?"

"My father had to leave us at a young age to pursue his career in television," he reveals leadingly. But she still just looks at him blankly, clearly not following. "Bob Barker is my dad," he finally spells it out for her.

Robin's expression doesn't stay blank for long. It quickly transforms into amused disappointment. Obviously this is one of his pickup lines to get women into bed by convincing them he has connections to get them on television, but she really thought he'd come up with something better than that to use on _her_. "Barney, I'm already on TV." She frowns, adding, "Even if no one's heard of us, I'm still on TV every day. So it's not use."

"Wha – _no_. It's not a pickup line. Bob Barker really is my dad," he insists.

She really looks at him then, takes in his tone, and realizes he's actually serious. He genuinely believes what he's telling her. "Barney?" she begins slowly.

"Yes, Robin?" he answers, chipper, not at all seeing the problem.

"Why in the world do you think Bob Barker is your dad?"

"Uh, because my mother told me he was, that's why." He even has the cheek to laugh at her naivety.

"And you believed her?" she continues, still going slowly, thinking surely he'll read between the lines of what she's saying and recognize how absurd he's being.

"Yes, I believed her," he replies in the same self-assured tone. "Why wouldn't I? She's my _mom_." But when Robin persists in holding his gaze unyieldingly, he looks away and the confidence begins to progressively falter from his voice. "And….you know….what else was I supposed to think? That my mom would lie to me about something as important as the identity of my father? That I've spent my whole life into my thirties not knowing who my real dad is? That I might not _ever_ know? That maybe even she doesn't know? Any of those things would be decidedly un-awesome."

He takes a deep drag from his Cuban before looking up at her again, the mask of awesome firmly back in place. "Luckily, I never have to experience that. Because Bob Barker _is_ my dad," he says resolutely, making it clear it's not a matter up for discussion. "And once my mom told me, it was nice having that presence in my life. I could come home at the end of a marking period and show him my report card, or who I was going as for Halloween. I could even finally play catch with my dad! Sure, he couldn't talk back and I always had to run and get the ball myself, but it was something. To know he was there….that one day he might come back."

Barney clears his throat. The afternoon has taken a turn far more serious than he intended and he hopes to get them back onto a lighter course. "Anyway, let's not gloss over what you said earlier. Using a 'Bob Barker is my dad so maybe I'll put you on TV' pickup line on you? Please. Trust me, Robin," he promises provocatively, leaning against the arm of his chair nearest hers. "If I ever get you into bed, career advancement will be the last thing on anyone's mind."

The change in the mood of the room is swift and undeniable.

Robin acutely feels the attraction, the draw to him, that inescapable chemistry _between_ them, and she can't help it if she wants to sample it just a little. "Is that right?" She leans in too, crossing her legs towards him, her toes only inches from his. "What would be on my mind then?"

"Nothing. Only pleasure. And a vague wondering of how many consecutive orgasms the female body can withstand before you blackout."

"Oh?" she smiles. "And I'd be in danger of that?"

The sexual tension practically crackles electric in the air, and Barney is an expert at reading women: the way her nostrils flare almost imperceptibly, her pupils just a bit more dilated, how she squirmed her hips ever so slightly in her chair. He can sense that she wants him. Reaching over, he sets his hand on top of hers. Hands first, then bodies; that's how he'd love the night to go.

"Try me," he whispers, gliding his fingers up her wrist to her forearm, his thumb slowly stroking the soft, receptive skin at the inside of her elbow. "I could still be the one who gives you a little somethin'-somethin'," he seductively suggests, his eyebrow bobbing in pace with the word. "One time couldn't have been enough to satisfy you."

It definitely wasn't, and for a second Robin allows herself to imagine the fun they could have if she took him up on the offer….if he took her home with him right now, kissed her into a frenzy, slowly undressed her piece by piece, and laid her on his bed. She abruptly shuts down the vivid imagery before Dream Barney has the chance to touch Dream Robin for fear the fantasy alone would be enough to persuade her to agree to it in reality. "Sorry, it's still a no."

Barney makes a show of sighing wistfully, but then lightly grins. "Okay. Bros it is then." He sits back casually in his chair and cheekily adds his usual "For now", taking another pull from his cigar.

It's become a regular part of their repartee now, his insistence that one day they're going to sleep together and her denial. If their flirtation ever stopped, Robin knows she would miss it sorely. In fact, the thought of it stopping deeply bothers her, _scares_ her even.

She's just not sure which scares her more: the thought of ever losing that with him, or fear of the very fact that she feels that way at all.

* * *

A few nights later, Robin is all alone in her apartment, moderately tipsy, and feeling sorry for herself.

It's been yet another demoralizing day at work, and sometimes she gets so _tired_ of pretending. Pretending this is just a bump in the road she'll eventually get past. Pretending it's all going to be okay when it's probably not. Pretending she's indestructible and impervious when she's so far from it. In other words, she's feeling discouraged and could really use a pick-me-up.

Unfortunately, that's a luxury Scherbatskys aren't afforded, a lesson she learned daily from her father. But her father isn't a part of her life anymore, and in the past weeks she's found someone who is, someone she feels safe enough with to share things that she wouldn't – _never_ has – with anyone else. And because of the sufficient quantities of alcohol flowing through her system, she has the courage to pick up her phone and type in a text: _Are you up?_ She quickly hits send before she can change her mind.

Over in Manhattan's Upper East Side, Barney's phone buzzes on the table and he picks it up, smiling when he reads what it says and, more importantly, who it's from. _Why? You wanna come over?_ he texts back, adding a winky face emoji for good measure. He knows full-well that's not what she meant but he loves teasing her and, amused, waits for her reply. A half second later, his phone actually rings. Even better, he thinks, picking up. "Go for Barney."

"Are you alone right now?"

Her greeting makes his grin broader. "Not even so much as a 'hi'. I like your enthusiasm. I always knew you were the booty-calling type of woman."

Robin ignores his banter, hastily replying, "I'm serious. Do you have a girl with you?"

Picking up a touch of impatience in her tone, he opts to answer semiseriously. "No. I worked a late night and came straight home." Then his voice returns to that same playfully seductive quality. "I'm lying in bed with a DVR of your broadcast. A little late-night tête-à-tête: me, a recorded version of you, and the bottle of lube I keep in the nightstand."

She makes a sound of disgust. "_Barney_, why would you answer your phone in the middle of that?"

"Why does it bother you?" he counters. "You're picturing it right now, aren't you?" He hears her "Ugh" and laughs wickedly.

"Just forget I called," she answers.

"No wait! Robin, I'm kidding. I'm kidding," he calls out contritely. "I'm just sitting on the couch. But I am watching your broadcast," he adds, hoping that will convince her not to hang up.

"And I'm not interrupting anything?" she asks hesitantly.

"No. You're not. What is it you wanted to talk about?"

But now that she's got him attentive on the line, Robin feels suddenly foolish. It's well after 2 a.m.; she shouldn't have bothered him. Her trivial little problems can certainly wait till morning. "Nothing. It was stupid. I'm sorry for calling so late."

"Why?" Barney reacts quickly, making sure to sound blasé about it all, sensing she's ready to bolt. "I just told you I was up. Now talk to me." There's obviously something going on with her, and he gets a sudden idea. "Ooh! Hang on."

To her surprise, Robin's phone rings in with a video call. "Is that you?"

"Yeah. I want to see you while we talk."

She sighs heavily. "I'm not naked."

"Damn," he grumbles regretfully.

"Barney," she says warily, still not answering the call.

"Come on! I knew you weren't. Pick up, Scherbatsky."

"Fine." She presses the proper buttons and an image of him floods her screen. He's on his living room sofa, just like he said, with his jacket and tie removed and his sleeves rolled up, nursing a scotch. It's quintessential Barney and she has to admit he looks yummy this way, all relaxed and laidback. "Is that what The Fortress of Barnitude looks like?" she observes, looking around at what she can see of his apartment. "So much grey and chrome."

"What can I say? I'm a classic, sophisticated, urbane type of fellow."

"Who not two minutes ago made a masturbation joke," she smirks.

"Ha-ha, yeah, I'm awesome. Nice PJs by the way," he admires impishly.

Robin really is in bed, sitting up against the headboard surrounded by her dogs – the Dalmatian is up by her pillow, the Chihuahua tucked into her side, and the terrier mix is currently lying with his head in her lap and his front paw on her knee. She's got on a blue cami, and pink and white plaid pajama pants with a matching blue drawstring tied into a cute little bow. Completing the look, her hair is pulled up into a messy bun atop her head with dark wisps falling down. She looks all warm and comfy and soft to touch, and he wishes he was in the room with her now.

"Shut up," she admonishes, but he notices the way she runs a tidying hand over her hair. "I didn't expect company."

"No, I think you look cute. Now tell me what's up."

Robin sighs again uncertainly, but she's come this far so she might as well just get on with it. He's never going to let it go until she tells him something; it might as well be the truth. "I just – I feel like my life is a mess right now and I….I wanted someone to talk to." She looks away embarrassed. "It's silly, I know. I'm not normally this weak, I promise. I'm just feeling a little depressed, but I'll get over it."

"Hmm," he hums knowingly, "and how much have you had to drink tonight, Robin?"

She moves her other hand into frame to show him her near empty glass of wine. "Half a bottle."

Barney snorts. "You're not a very fun drunk, are you?"

"That's just it, usually I _am_!" she wines, disheartened.

"Well, keep drinking. Maybe I can get you to all the way to Let's-Get-Naked! drunk and you'll treat me to a Skype striptease."

"Yeah, that's not happening."

"Then I guess you're just going to have to tell me what's wrong." His face turns all smart-alecky like he's bested her.

"Alright," she rolls her eyes. "It's Metro News 1. I don't know how much more I can take. Are you really watching today's show?"

"Yep."

"So you saw yet another of my groundbreaking reports." She shakes her head dejectedly. "I'm becoming such a joke."

"What are you talking about? _Happy Hour Yoga: The Healthy Release_ is fantastic! Look, it's on right now." Barney flips the phone quickly so she can catch a glimpse of herself on his massive TV. He gives an appreciative little grunt and she watches him cock his head sideways for a better view. "In those tight yoga pants, your Downward-Facing Dog has gotten Lil' Barney firmly upward-facing, which is all I ask for in quality journalism. Though I could show you a much more enjoyable release if you'd ever let me."

"You're an idiot," Robin smiles fondly, shaking her head. However, the smile soon falters and she sighs a third time. "….I just hoped to be doing serious news by now."

"I see what this is about," Barney nods cunningly. "We need to get you a promotion to lead anchor."

"We?"

"I'm your bro and your wingman in _all_ matters. Naturally, I'd help," he explains. "And, really, landing a promotion isn't much different than getting a chick to come home with you."

"Except at your job you actually see them again," she smartly retorts.

"Very funny."

"If I _were_ lead anchor at Metro News 1, it still wouldn't be the big leagues but at least I'd finally be taken seriously…..And who knows? Maybe I'd even be able to improve the content," Robin muses. Until reality catches up with her. "But that's out of the question. You know lead anchor is Sandy's job, and they love him. Even if he were to leave for some reason, there are at least three others ahead of me in line for the position – and that's if they don't hire from the outside."

"So if you hate it that much, Robin, why don't you just quit?" he offers the most obvious solution. "People do it all the time."

"Because, Barney," she answers defensively, "I have to make a living. And I like what I do – if I were ever given half a chance to actually _do_ what it is I've been trained to do."

"Then start from where you're at and work your way up till _you're_ next in line for lead anchor." He sees her open her mouth to protest and he cuts her off. "I started out at the bottom at GNB – then still AltruCell – and now I work on the executive floor at one of the biggest conglomerates in the world. You could do the same thing. Or, if you're convinced Metro News 1 is a dead-end, leave and work your way up at some other network that's more your style."

"You say that like it's so easy, but….." Robin trails off. Just contemplating it, she's overwhelmed by the actual reason she stays: those lingering doubts about herself and her abilities. At least Metro News 1 is steady, stable employment. It's better than nothing. If she were to let it go, then what? Maybe this is the best she can ever get. "…..what if I try and I fail?"

Barney remembers what she said about her dad, how he was sure she'd crash and burn. She likes to act as if he doesn't matter anymore in her life, but clearly the scars her father left her with still do. As far as Barney is concerned, anyone who makes Robin feel bad about herself is a world-class bastard, end of story. Yet, someone like her, someone who's been left with those kinds of emotional bruises, responds best to one thing: a challenge. Prove me wrong; shove it in my face that you _can_ do it, you can thrive without me. He knows because he has those same scars himself. "Then you try again, and you keep trying until you make it," he asserts confidently.

"You don't understand. This is a highly competitive market."

"So what?" he scoffs. "Didn't you use to play hockey? Everything I know about you tells me you _thrive_ on competition."

He's right, they both know it, and without a leg to stand on the real truth comes out. "What if I'm just not good enough?" Right now she has the excuse of chalking it all up to Metro News 1's ridiculousness, but what happens if she really puts herself out there and _still_ can't make it? Then she'll have no one to blame by herself.

"Robin, _I_ know that's not true. Patrice knows that's not true. Anyone who knows you at all knows that's not true," Barney expresses emphatically. "You just have to _make_ them pay attention to you, make them take you seriously. And that starts by taking your own self seriously and believing in your talent."

She thinks about that for a moment. She _would_ love to be able to take pride in what she does. Still, there's so much uncertainty there. "I don't know. It'd be really difficult, and the odds aren't in my favor….It's just too risky," Robin finishes, resigned.

She's already talked herself out of it, but whether she realizes it or not Barney recognizes that what she really means is she's too _scared_ to try for something more. "Promise me you'll at least think about it."

"Okay, I will."

But he knows she won't. He's got to find a way to make her see she's not the problem here. Metro News 1 is simply undervaluing her talent and failing to appreciate her.

Before he can decide what to do about it though, she offers him a small but affectionate smile. "Thanks, Barney…..Goodnight."

"What? After such stellar advice, I don't get even a _little_ peek?" he says in mock offense.

Now her smile transforms into a mischievous smirk. "Here you go. Knock yourself out." And she turns her phone around, treating him to a 360 glance of her bedroom.

Her walls are red and she has a green decorative lamp on the nightstand. Her curtains are done up in that same deep red, with jacquard throw pillows and a reading lamp near the window. On the far wall there's a dark wood dresser, and as she pans back to herself he spots her mastiff lying to the right alongside her feet and her Portuguese Podengo to the left.

"Did you enjoy the view?" Robin teases him.

"You laugh, but I finally got to see your apartment," Barney brags. "And the first thing you show me is your bedroom? Oh no, there's no subliminal message there." He winks at her.

"You are _such_ an idiot," she giggles.

"Sweet dreams, Scherbatsky."

"Night, Barney."

* * *

**AN**: I'll be switching now to work on updating "Catching the Clock", so here is a little preview of what's coming when this story returns.

**In the next chapter**: Barney goes to irregular means to convince Robin to jumpstart her career. Meanwhile, Patrice's and Lily's suspicions increase.


	19. An Itch That Only You Can Scratch

It's a Friday night in early October and Marshall, Lily, and Ted took off earlier this evening on a road trip and weekend stay for some big Wesleyan University football rivalry game. Or something like that; Barney tends to tune them out when they get to talking about the good ol' college days. All that matter is they're away for the weekend so it was safe to meet Robin at MacLaren's without risking an encounter with the gang.

They're just starting on a shared plate of chicken strips and an order of fries when Barney ruminates aloud, "Do you know we've been bros for over a month now?"

Robin grins, dipping a piece of chicken into their ranch and taking a bite. "Craziest month of my life."

"And that's really saying something seeing as how you won't sleep with me."

She just smiles and steals one of his fries.

"Until you experience the full Bar-nana, you have no idea what crazy even is – and by that I mean crazy _hot_," he says, giving her a sexy wink.

"When you say things like 'Bar-nana', I wonder how you ever get laid at all," she teases, going in for another fry.

He sees her pull from the bottom of the stack a coiled reddish brown curly fry and Barney gasps in dismay.

"What?" Robin looks around them to see what he's freaking out about.

"What?" he repeats incredulously. "You wonder what? I don't mind sharing with you – even though you _claimed_ not to want any fries."

She shrugs sheepishly. "They looked good when they got here."

"Story of my life," he nods at her. "One look and a woman wants me inside her."

She shakes her head, smirking.

"But, Robin, you _don't_ take a man's accidental curly. That's an established fact as old as time itself. Why, way back in the caveman days when the first curly fry was invented – "

"You realize what you're saying is absurd, right?"

"My ancient ancestor Barnubu Stinstone was bro enough to – "

"If you wanted curly fries so badly why didn't you just order them in the first place?"

"Uh, _yeah_," Barney ridicules, "cause that's what you want. _All_ curly fries," he sniggers as if the very idea is ludicrous. "Now, regular cut with a few accidental curlies, _that's_ the dream."

"You are such an idiot," Robin laughs, relinquishing the bouncing spiral fry onto the top of his pile of french fries.

"Tell you what," he offers, enjoying her amused grin enough to make a generous concession, "to mark our one month broversary, I'll go halfsies with you."

"How gracious of you," she mocks as she watches him split the fry in half. When she actually thinks about it though, considering the odd significance he placed on the fry, it really is sweet of him to share.

Barney passes Robin her half and they each plop theirs slinky-style down onto their waiting tongues.

"Mmm," she hums as she chews.

"Delicious, right? I told you that's the dream," he brags.

"So other than delicious fries, what are our plans for tonight? Are you finally going to show me _The Playbook_? Let us try out one of the two-man plays like you've been promising?"

"Seeing a hard copy of _The Playbook_ is a rare privilege only doled out to a select few, Scherbatsky."

"And I haven't made the cut yet?"

"You have, but running a pickup to land both a woman _and_ a man is a bit trickier than the usual two-person play."

"Can't we just use one of the plays you and James would run?"

"I don't know…." Barney considers as he takes a bite of chicken. "It's different when you're dealing with two heterosexual members of the opposite sex. It's a fine line to walk."

"Why? Isn't that what we did before with Brawny and the 7?" Robin reasons.

"That was wingmanning," he stops her, pointing out the important distinction. "An actual two-man _play_ requires more extensive roleplaying and preparation. We'll get there. If there's any man and woman who can pull it off, it's me and you. But not tonight. Tonight, I have something different in mind." He eyes her slyly. "Actually, I have a proposition for you."

"I know you do. Barney, you proposition me on a nightly basis."

His lower lip wobbles as a charmed smile threatens to break out and ruin the suave look of mystery he has on his face. "Not _that_ kind of proposition," he shoots back. "Though the offer always stands – and we both know I would rock your world. No, this is something different. Something a little more journalistically minded."

That has her attention, as he knew it would.

Over the past week, Barney has been forming a plan, the perfect way to spur Robin along on her career path and free her from a job she clearly loathes yet is afraid to leave. In the seven weeks he's known her it's become obvious to him that she's completely unhappy at Metro News 1. However, her feet are firmly entrenched in the safety and security of the status quo – because if she never takes any more risks she can never have any more failures. _He_ knows all this, but he also knows her well enough to realize that just telling Robin what he's figured out isn't enough. He's going to have to _show_ her, demonstrate it to her in no uncertain terms so she'll have no choice but to face it herself and finally take action.

And with the particular plan he ultimately chose, it has the nice bonus of allowing him to have some fun with her along the way while simultaneously prompting her to look for a new job.

"Tonight, we are going to begin a little game I call 'How Much Is It Worth To You?'."

"That still sounds like the same kind of propositioning," Robin rejoins. "And I've gotta say, bribery isn't the way to get there. I may have been a little loose in my lifetime, but money has never changed hands."

Barney looks her square in the eyes and simply replies, "Booger."

"Excuse me?"

"Booger," he repeats unfazed. "The first round of our game involves me paying you to say stupid words during your live reports for my amusement. And tonight's word is 'booger'."

"Are you serious?" she laughs, only half believing him.

"When a bet is involved, I'm always serious." He stares her down with driven eyes and a cutthroat smile. "Or are you afraid?"

That touches off something from Robin's bloodthirsty sports-minded past, tapping into the hard-hitting, aggressive need to win her father instilled her with. "I'm as competitive as anyone and _never_ afraid of a challenge," she asserts ruthlessly. "But this is my job, Barney. I can't just – "

"Booger. Say it and I'll give you fifty bucks."

"I'm a journalist," she answers in righteous indignation. "I take what I do very seriously, and – "

"_Journalist_?" Barney scoffs. "Scherbatsky, you do little fluff pieces at the end of the news. Old people, babies, monkeys. That's not journalism. That's just things in a diaper."

Now she's the one to stare him down with narrowed eyes, and he can tell that already he's getting to her.

"I'll admit," she finally allows, "there may have been a time when I felt that way too."

"A time? You've been saying that ever since I met you."

"_But_," she ignores him, "rumors have been swirling around the station for the past few days that I'm about to get bumped up to the city hall beat."

If that turns out to be true, Barney couldn't be happier; it means what they both want: the better job for her she's always dreamed of. And if it turns out to be merely idle gossip, her disappointment and anger at being passed over yet again will play perfectly into his plan.

"So, no," Robin insists, "I will not be making a fool of myself and jeopardizing my promotion by saying 'booger' on live TV for fifty bucks."

"Of course not," Barney agrees.

She nods, satisfied that he sees it her way and is finally taking her job seriously.

"Cause now you're saying 'nipple'," he adds wickedly, "and it's a hundred bucks."

"Barney, I am not about to – "

"Step into my web," he invites, crooking his finger and leaning toward her with an evil laugh.

* * *

All weekend Barney keeps harping on it, continually tempting her to say 'nipple' during her next broadcast. Robin, however, maintains her steadfast refusal.

Come Monday, they see each other one more time for breakfast at a nearby diner before work – and the whole time Barney's _still_ trying to convince her.

"Meet me at MacLaren's after your broadcast and I'll give you your winnings," he promises. Lily had texted him at 2:36am this morning to say that she, Marshall, and Ted were strung-out on 'sandwiches' and would be staying on campus an extra day, so Barney knows the bar is safe to meet her one more night.

"What's the point?" Robin poses, between pancake bites. "I told you, I'm not doing it."

"Then I'll buy your drinks, so you win either way."

"Fine," she relents with a smile.

"But you'll do it….." Barney smugly insists.

* * *

Later at work, Robin plays it cool but is secretly ecstatic when her boss calls her into his office and tells her there's a story he needs her to cover down at city hall. It seems her professional ambitions are finally on their way to being realized and she's starting to get some recognition around here.

She couldn't be happier.

Until she gets there and discovers the "story" is just another one of the lame fluff pieces Barney had so correctly labeled a few days ago.

Her immediate disappointment soon turns to disillusionment. She carries on going through the motions by rote response, but as she's addressing viewers with her usual rehearsed rhetoric – "Next time you're passing City Hall, make sure and stop by New York's oldest hot dog cart" – her disillusionment abruptly feeds into frustration and bitterness. The next thing she knows, Robin's ending her live broadcast with, "Today a delicious hot dog will cost you $2.50, but back when the stand first opened in 1955 you could get one for only a nipple."

At first there's a delicious charge in it, this revengeful rebelliousness. It's the same charge she felt when she grew her hair back out, starting dressing in the most girlish clothes she could find, and dyed her long curls a very feminine, very un-Scherbatsky like shade of blonde.

But by the time Robin makes it back to the station, remorse has set in. She gives Patrice the lowdown on the whole tale, her temptation and ultimate succumbing to the dark side, and Robin is horrified with herself – all the more so at one of Barney's Star Wars puns slipping into her own subconscious thoughts of shame.

She has half a mind not to even go to MacLaren's but Patrice convinces her that at the very least a stiff drink will take the edge off things, so they both wind up at the bar. After she orders herself a strong scotch and Patrice opts for a strawberry daiquiri, Robin leads them by habit over to Barney's usual booth, eager to drown her disgrace as soon as possible.

"I said 'nipple' on the news," she continues to lament. "That was _so_ unprofessional! I said 'nipple' – _on the news_!" She can still hardly believe it. It was like something uncontrollable just came over her and in that moment she couldn't help herself.

"At least it's better than 'booger'," Patrice offers supportively.

"_Is_ it, though?"

Robin leans her forehead against her hand, horrified at herself. She hasn't been paying any attention to her surroundings but, catching a whiff of Barney's cologne, she looks to find him walking out from the back of the bar. The instant their eyes meet, a spark lights in his as he makes a beeline over to the booth.

"Theeerrre she is," Barney proclaims, a particularly rakish smirk dancing on his lips. "Hey, is it cold in here?" He lets his eyes wander over her; Robin can actually feel his gaze slide down her neck to settle on her breasts before he brings it back to her eyes again, watching them as he delivers the punchline. "Cause I can kinda see Robin's _nickels_."

She rolls her eyes at him, but his expression is so delighted – in himself, in the joke, in the situation – that Robin can't help but break into a half-smile herself as he laughs boyishly. "I still can't believe you had me say that."

Barney continues to chuckle as he edges down into the booth beside her, forcing Robin to slide over along the bench if she doesn't want to remain mashed up against him. "It was your best broadcast to date! The only thing that would have been better is if you actually did let me see them."

She scowls at him. "I would never do that. I can't believe you even got me to do this. I'm so ashamed of myself!"

"Why? It was legendary," he raves. "And you earned a crisp c-note in the process," he adds, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing it to her with a grin.

"Don't you feel even a little bit bad for goading her?" Patrice questions.

"Yeah, Barney," Robin chimes in. "Where's _your_ shame?"

"I'm proud to say I haven't got any. In my body, where the shame gland should be there's a second awesome gland. True story," he boasts, nodding at her.

"You know," Robin begins, but he sees her eyes dart between him and some unidentified spot across the bar, "I'm actually not surprised to – " She cuts off, directing his attention over to where she was looking. "Why is that girl checking you out?" she asks, and he tries not to be too pleased by the hint of annoyance in her voice.

"Because I look good," Barney dismisses, straightening his tie cockily. "Now focus."

Robin turns her attention back to him. "I was just saying, with you, I wouldn't be surprised if that was true."

"Of course it's true. Now, we need to start thinking about what your next awesome feat will be." He puts his forefinger to his lips, pondering it. "If you're really opposed to any degree of flashing, then I guess for now we'll have to stick to – "

"_No_," Robin holds firm. "Barney, I am never going to – Okay, _seriously_, what is this girl's deal?" she asks in irritation as the woman now smiles and waves at him.

Barney laughs humorlessly, attempting a smile back that looks more like a grimace as he unenthusiastically returns her wave. "I'm sort of on a date with her," he finally admits.

"What?" Patrice sputters.

Robin's surprised herself, although it makes the curly haired brunette's persistent interest understandable now. It's not that Robin would put it past Barney to be picking up any number of women when out doing….well, pretty much anything, but she's never heard of him going on an actual _date_.

"Yeah, I found her online," he explains to Patrice, and Robin reaches for her scotch, taking a long drink. "I'm just tired of the whole bar scene, the one-night hookups. I'm looking for a soulmate, someone I can love and cuddle."

As soon as she hears that, Robin's onto him and gives him a look that says as much. Feeling her gaze, Barney slowly turns to her with crafty eyes. "Or so it says in my profile." And he grins, laughing evilly.

He waits until he's got Robin laughing too and, mission accomplished, Barney shuts off the laugh as quickly as it started and gestures in annoyance over to his so-called date. "But this girl, she wants the same stuff – "

"Imagine that," Robin quips, readily amused now that she knows this is just another of Barney's usual schemes, nothing special here. "How did you think it was going to go down writing a profile like that?'

"You have to say that stuff to reel em in. But it's all this girl wants to talk about, and it's bumming me out!" Snatching Robin's drink, he takes an ample gulp and reaches into his pocket for his phone. "Alright, I'm gonna get James to call me from the hospital."

"Wait, James is in the hospital?" she asks, concerned.

"No. I'm just going to go back over there and wait for James to call so I can pretend there's a family member in the hospital. Simple as that; I'm out of there – no harm, no fuss."

"Oh Lord, the fake emergency call? That is the lamest, most pathetic cop-out in the book. I expect more from you, Barney."

Her comment along with the derision in her tone leaves him feeling slightly embarrassed and, more than anything, genuinely disappointed in himself. She's right; the fake emergency call _is_ too ordinary, too overdone. It's beneath his level of awesomeness, and he resolves here and now to come up with a better exit strategy that will really wow her and cement his legendary status in her mind. "Well, stay tuned. I'm working on some stuff." He pats his temple to indicate the gears are already in motion. "But in the meantime…." he says, turning to his phone again.

He's scrolling through his contacts when Robin gets a wicked idea of her own. Because while she didn't put any of this past Barney, an irksome unpleasant feeling somewhere between resentment and distress came over her when that woman kept waving at him, especially when Barney told her the two of them were on an official date. She didn't like that feeling but there's no denying it was there, and all at once _she_ wants to be back on his radar. It's an overwhelming urge – and telling herself it's only teasing and all in good fun makes it okay. "Ooh, can I do it?"

"Taking your wingwoman duties seriously. I like it." He nods his approval. "Just do it quick," he adds as he stands up from the booth. "I can't take much more of this girl."

After Barney goes back to his date, Robin waits a minute or so just so it won't seem too suspicious. During that minute, she slips into the proper mood, letting her eyes go hazy and heavy-lidded, and as she presses his icon she straightens herself in the booth, unconsciously thrusting her chest out.

She can hear Barney's phone ring across the bar and watches as he says something disingenuously apologetic to the girl he's trying to brush off, then reaches into his jacket for his phone. His 'hello' comes through sounding innocent and unplanned. Hoping to catch him off-guard, she makes her response anything but. "Hi there, _sexy_."

Although he pauses for only half a second, there's an increased dilation in his pupils in response to her come-on, however fake they both know it to be. But she's too far away to catch it. To everything her eyes can detect, Barney plays it entirely cool. "Hello, Aunt Cathy. What's up?" he answers overly brightly, just to spite her.

And then it's war.

"Oh, nothing," she sighs languidly, closing her eyes and pouting her lower lip out in case he's watching. "Just sitting here thinking about you, _hot stuff_," she overemphasizes, her voice dipping low and wanting.

It sends an immediate charge down his spine and an answering tingle below the belt, but he takes pains not to let a hint of it show, transferring that charge into a shocked and anxious expression. "An accident?...Well, is Uncle Rudy going to be okay?"

And because she still can't seem to get a rise out of him, she ups the ante. "Aunt Cathy's got an itch that only you can scratch, _Big Boy_," she moans breathily into the phone, watching him carefully for his reaction.

He feels the effects of her sexy whimper all the way down to his toes. Of course, he won't let on; she's not winning this game – though he _is_ rather excited to see just how far she'll carry this. "Oh, God! Why did he think he could build his own helicopter?" he emotes in distress, playing the part of concerned nephew well.

It frustrates her that she can't crack his composure even just a little. Is she losing her touch? "Oh come on, daddy," she gasps, heaving bosoms and all. "Break me off a piece of that white chocolate," Robin begs in her best impression of the oversexed, horny bimbos from all the porn she knows he watches.

Barney's breath is coming quicker now but, luckily, he can pass if off under the guise of worry for poor Uncle Rudy. Still, if she takes it all the way to a _When Harry Met Sally_ level he's sure to break, as he'll most definitely want to have what she's having. He decides to get out while he's still ahead. "Well, if he needs a transplant, he can have mine. I'll be right there," he proclaims through fake tears, handily excusing himself from the date.

As he weaves his way through the tables towards the door, he pauses ever so slightly beside Robin's booth, pinning her with smoky, delighted eyes and whispering, "Minx."

Robin giggles softly to herself watching him go. Until Patrice clears her throat pointedly.

Robin had honestly forgotten she was here, but she has a fair idea of just exactly what her friend is going to say. Fortuitously, she's saved by the bell when her phone rings this time.

"Hi, sweet thing," Barney murmurs in her ear once she answers. "Your little call awakened my 'sleeping giant', just like you wanted. Now daddy's ready to scratch that itch for you. And I promise I can get in there real good." His seduction is interrupted when he snorts and breaks into laughter. "Ha-ha, an old lady just gave me a dirty look; I'm _awesome_."

"You're an idiot is what you are," Robin chuckles.

"An idiot who just made you a hundred dollars richer. Now I'm off to find myself someone a lot less commitment-minded for the evening, but I'll be thinking of ways to up the ante."

"Don't bother. That was a one-time thing."

"That's what they all say, right before they come crawling back for more," he tells her roguishly. "I'll meet you at the station tomorrow after your broadcast for my second favorite thing I can pay you to do." There's a beat of silence and then he clarifies, "The first would be a – "

"I get it, Barney. See you then."

Robin ends the call, slipping her phone into her back pocket. When she glances up, Patrice is watching her with this weird look. "What? Is there something on my face?" she asks, trying to wipe it away.

"Oh my gosh, Robin. The two of you are so _cute_ together!" Patrice enthuses. "I've never seen this side of you before."

"What side?" Robin peers at her in confusion. "What are you talking about? I'm not acting any different than I always do."

"Yes, you are. You're all bubbly and bright in a way you haven't been before. You're definitely different around him." Patrice pauses, considering it. "Lighter and more fun," she finally decides on.

"Hey, I'm a little bit hurt," Robin protests.

"And you love teasing him, getting him all riled up," Patrice observes, saving the most damning piece of evidence for last. "You're always flirting with him."

"Uh, _no_," Robin responds as if the very thought is ridiculous. "I don't _always_ flirt with him." Realizing how that sounds she corrects, "Or ever. Never. I'm just being a bro. That's just how we are. It's just – the point is, I'm not 'flirting'.

"Oh yes, you are," Patrice beams. "And you like it when he flirts with you too. I saw the way your face flushed when he was talking about your 'nickels', and when you two were getting sexy on the phone….You like him! _Like_ like him! More than I even realized."

"That is crazy talk. I don't _like_ Barney," Robin declares in a noticeably higher pitch than usual. She runs a perturbed hand through her hair, getting her voice modulation back under control. "And who even says '_like_ like' past elementary school?"

Patrice brings her hands to her chest, wiggling in glee. "Ooh, this is so perfect! We can go on double dates together, be in each other's weddings. Our kids can all be friends!"

Robin reaches across the both and grabs her shoulders like she's a hysterical person – which, by Robin's standards, she's very close to becoming. "Patrice, will you listen to yourself? It's like you don't know me at all. _None_ of that is happening. Ever."

But Patrice will hear nothing of it and continues going on about future plans for her and Barney until Robin finally follows Barney's lead and fakes a text from the hospital.

* * *

The next night after work, Barney stops by MacLaren's to have a quick drink with the gang and hear about their Wesleyan misadventures before meeting up with Robin.

He's three quarters of the way through his drink and has heard copious testimonials of how "sandwiches are much stronger than they used to be" – totally worth the repetition since it's been hilarious hearing how his friends embarrassed themselves in front of the college crowd in increasingly lame ways as the weekend wore on – when Lily nudges him.

"Check it: three blonde babies drinking bad decision juice at eight o'clock," she gives Barney the heads up.

"Nice rack radar," Marshall compliments her from across the booth.

Barney glances over at the intended marks, and although they do keenly fit his usual bill – all solid 7s or above – they don't work up any interest to alter his plans. "Nah," he shakes his head, declining. "I've gotta get going." He's thought of _the_ best thing for Robin to do on air. He even bought an extra DVR as a backup recorder he's so intent on immortalizing this forever.

He's so focused on it, in fact, that Barney doesn't notice how oddly they're all staring at him.

"Seriously?" Lily voices the collective thoughts of the group. "But they're blonde. And drunk. Isn't that your type?"

"God, Lily," Barney protests, his voice dripping in offense. "Do you think the male mind is really that simplistic that we all have one favorite type? Geez."

"I – I'm sorry," Lily replies, taken aback.

But then Barney whispers to the guys, "Asian with some boob", and she rolls her eyes as he announces his intention to hit the bathroom and bail.

Little mastermind that she is, however, it doesn't take long for Lily to latch onto this latest anomaly, and she takes advantage of his absence to question the others. "Okay, don't you think Barney's been acting off lately?"

Ted shrugs. "Barney's Barney."

"Ted has a point, babe," Marshall concurs. "You can't expect Barney to behave like us. Or, you know, like acceptable human society."

"True, but of all the things Barney Stinson is and isn't, 'predictable' is his number one trait," Lily asserts.

"I don't know, Lil." Ted shakes his head. "I don't think anyone saw the whole Mrs. Stinsfire thing coming last spring."

"I don't mean that Barney's individual plays and schemes are necessarily predictable, but that it's predictable for him to _have_ them. I mean, stop and think about it." She leans across the booth conspiratorially. "What things do we always know Barney to do?"

"Wear suits," Marshall jumps in first, excited for any type of game.

"Drink scotch," Ted puts in, always up for solving a mystery.

"Good one," Marshall elbows him.

But they still haven't hit on Lily's main point. "_And_?" she says leadingly.

"Always be hitting on some woman?" Marshall tries.

Ted nods. "Usually right here at MacLaren's."

"Exactly. But there's been a disruption in the force, a break in his pattern for at least the past month," she claims. "Suddenly he's not hanging out quite as much, and he's even made excuses for why he can't be at the bar."

Marshall's eyes widen. "And now there are three easy pickings right in front of him and he won't even try because he claims he's 'got to get going'. What could he possibly have to do that's more important to Barney than the promise of sex?"

"Hmm, that does seem odd," Ted agrees. "And he hasn't been as clingy and insistent that his 'best friend' bro out with him every night either. Maybe something _is_ up with Barney," he allows.

"Guys," Lily asks momentously, "could it be, do you think it's possible that Barney Stinson….has a girlfriend?"

Ted grins at that. "No, the world hasn't gone that crazy."

"Yeah," Marshall laughs. "Pigs can't fly yet."

Lily chuckles along with them. "I guess you guys are right." Still, it's hard to dismiss that continued niggling Lily Sense when she sees Barney carefully straightening his tie and brushing nonexistent lint off his suit as he heads out the door.


	20. Giving Up

"Alright, Scherbatsky, are you ready to have your mind blown?"

Robin looks up at him with her arms crossed over her chest as she sits at her makeup chair. "Probably not, but go ahead."

Barney narrows his eyes at her for not playing along but goes on as instructed. "Your performance thus far has been first-rate, so I'm adding a little theatrics into the mix. And now," he grandly announces, for your next challenge – "

"There isn't going to be a next challenge." He opens his mouth, about to make a rebuttal, but she's way ahead of him. "I don't care how much you offer me." She doesn't exactly have Barney's level of wealth – not without touching her trust fund, anyway – but she's holding her own. It certainly isn't worth selling her integrity.

Barney can easily read it on her that money alone isn't going to work, but he also has the advantage of knowing bribery has nothing to do with this. He just has to get _her_ to admit it. "Oh search your soul, Robin." He regards her with shrewd eyes as he slowly circles her chair, the shark narrowing in on his prey. "You and I both know this wasn't about the money. Sure, Metro News 1 pays you jack, and hey – " He suddenly swoops down onto his knees beside her, all the better to stare her down and intently focus his temptation, like the proverbial devil on her shoulder. " – a little green salad on the side is good for you, me, and Mr. McGee."

Robin shakes her head, biting back a smile. "Seriously? Who talks like that?"

"But what baby _really_ likes," he continues, holding her gaze meaningfully, "is the thrill of pulling one over on those bean-counters who underappreciate you and _still_ haven't promoted you."

That strikes a nerve with Robin. Who's she kidding? It hits the target dead-on.

It had felt _so_ good to stick it to her bosses for once. In that moment in front of the live cameras, she knows she would have still said 'nipple' even if there was no money involved. In fact, just remembering back on that ridiculous and degrading hot dog cart story she'd been assigned, she wants nothing more than to do it all over again. She's ready for Barney's next challenge alright.

Shivering, Robin tries to shake it off, but it's no use. He's gotten in her head and she's knows he's right: about Metro News 1, about why she wants to do it, about everything.

Barney sees what she's thinking and he knows he's got. Swooping around to her other shoulder just for that added element of surprise to keep her off-balance, he goes in for the kill. "So, for two more hundie sticks, baby's going to look in the camera and say this…." He brings his hand up to cup his mouth as he bends to whisper in her ear. "'I'm a dirty, dirty girl', and then spank yourself, telling daddy how good it feels."

To say that Robin's greatly tempted by his proposition is an understatement. She really does love the thrill of it, that aspect of reprisal and retaliation. Revenge is a seductive thing, and doing it right under their noses makes it all the more exhilarating. But those impulses are at war with her sense of professionalism and, with this particular challenge, her simple dignity.

She lifts her hands in what he initially takes for surrender but it's merely her attempt to break out of his spell. "I've got to get back to work," she shelves any further debate, getting up from her chair. "See you, Barney."

He steps into her path, blocking her way as she tries to leave the room and pinning her with questioning eyes.

There's a part of Robin that would like to flat-out tell him 'no' and just end this now, once and for all. But at the moment there's an equally strong part of her that _really_ wants to say 'yes'. "Baby's gonna think about it," she eventually admits, because even she doesn't know which side is going to end up winning.

* * *

The following day, when Robin gets sent out on her next story, all remaining level-headed thinking goes out the window.

The assignment is no better than before, no less of a joke. She doesn't know why she keeps hoping this time it will magically be different, that suddenly her bosses will take her seriously and let her report real, important news. They never have before and they never will. It is _never_ going to change.

She started out her career in New York City with so much hope, but now she's become disenchanted and embittered by the whole experience. What's the point in trying? What's the point in having things like integrity and professionalism when she only ends up at hotdog carts and old people homes anyway? If this is all she'll ever amount to then she might as well have some fun with it, give herself and Barney a little excitement along the way while earning a couple extra hundred on the side.

And so she finishes off her broadcast on the tragic passing of New York's oldest twins by proclaiming herself a dirty, dirty girl, slapping her bottom, and letting out a halfhearted "ow" for Barney's benefit.

Sinking to that level on live TV makes Robin feel like a part of her soul just died, but if she's going to be a joke she might as well embrace it, right?

…..Come to think of it, maybe it's not her soul dying. Maybe this is just what giving up feels like.

But the second the report is over, her field producer gets a call and informs Robin that their boss wants to see her in his office. She's certain she's in for it now, and a brutal deluge of cold stomach-churning remorse swamps her.

With all her rebelliousness deflated, she's angry with Barney, but most of all angry with herself. How could she allow herself to compromise her employment this way? She may have been going nowhere fast, but she still _always_ took her work seriously. Up until now, that was the one thing her dad couldn't fault her on: Scherbatskys never get fired.

Looks like she's about to disappoint him on every level.

Walking into her boss's office, Robin is well aware she has no choice but to grovel – and she hasn't pride enough left to even find that demeaning. "Before you say anything, Mr. Adams, I just want to say that I really like working here at Metro News 1, and I – "

"That's great," he cuts her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "So my dog keeps making this terrible chocking sound and – "

"What?" Robin questions, stunned.

"You have dogs, right? What do you think that means?"

"Take him to the vet?" she suggests in a daze. It's hard not to feel dazed when she was fully expecting a stern lecture and angry yelling, when she went in preparing an impassioned plea to keep her job, and now all he's talking about is his dog.

"Genius! That's one I owe you."

"Was that all?" she gently ventures, still waiting for the other shoe to fall. But he assures her that was it and is already back to his paperwork, ignoring her presence. She gets up from the chair and turns to leave, but before she goes she just has to ask. "And….and nothing about the twins story?" She knows she's tempting fate here and that anyone else would just take the break and run, but it's impossible to believe he's not going to scold her _a little_ for her on-air antics, at the very least tell her to knock it off.

"Oh yeah, yeah, great job on that one," he says off-handedly, not even bothering to look back up. "New York loves you. You're a superstar," he mumbles insincerely, the same artificial words and tone he uses to deal with all troublesome insecure talent. He brushes her off with a curt and firm, "Bye-bye", making it crystal clear she should leave him alone now.

And that's when Robin realizes a truth even sadder than getting fired: no one, not ever her boss, watches Metro News 1.

The minute she closes his office door behind her, Robin whips out her phone and calls Barney. "What's next?" she demands.

* * *

It goes on like this for days with no end in sight. By that Thursday night, ready to accept his next dare, Robin meets Barney at a college bar halfway between the station and GNB – a bar he knows the gang would never set foot in.

"Well," she announces, hooking her purse around the empty chair across from Barney's, "I just wrapped up a live newscast by honking my own boobs."

"And great TV was had by all," Barney smirks.

Robin laughs, shaking her head as she sits down with him.

"Alright, Scherbatsky, new challenge," he proposes. "And this one's big, but so is the cash reward. For $1,000 – you heard me – all you have to do is get up there on the news and do the Ickey Shuffle."

"What the hell is that?"

"A legendary dance made famous by Elbert "Ickey" Woods of the Cincinnati Bengals," Barney explains. "You see, every time he'd score a touchdown, he'd do this celebratory dance. Super awesome," he raves, and in an attempt to dissuade her, Barney adds, "but also super conspicuous. Some would even say ostentatious."

He eyes her carefully, but his latest challenge, outrageous as it is, doesn't seem to have any effect. "It was so ostentatious, in fact, it led the NFL to create an Excessive Celebration penalty."

When she _still_ remains unmoved, Barney pushes up from his chair, determined to show her just how silly she'll look. "Here, I'll demonstrate it for you. You've got to shuffle your feet to the right while pretending to hold a football with that same hand," he says, doing just that in an overstated matter to look all the more stupid. "Then shuffle to the left and switch up the imaginary football too. Finally, you'll finish up by pretend-spiking the ball and lifting your hand triumphantly to the heavens in an 'I'm number one' sign."

Even after the disturbing visual, Robin's not protesting, leading Barney to tack on, "And all the while as you're doing it you'll say, 'Elbert "Ickey" Woods, the Bengals were fools to cut you in '91. Your 1,525 rushing yards and your 27 touchdowns will not be forgotten. So Coach Dave Shula, screw you and your crappy steakhouse!'"

He made that up as he was going, but it works to his advantage because it's so long and ridiculous, especially alongside the dance, that now she _must_ realize it won't go unnoticed. Doing all that on-air, she'll make a complete fool of herself.

But Robin merely shrugs, resigned. "Just write it down for me. What do I care? It's not like anyone's watching anyway, right?"

Eyebrows furrowed, Barney sinks back down into his chair. As fun as this has been, he's getting a little worried now. Oh, he's been successful in getting her to resent Metro News 1 and her bosses there who are undervaluing her and who, as it turns out, don't even watch either. But the end result was supposed to make her fed up enough to _do_ something about it. Instead, Robin just keeps going along with his challenges. He thought it would spur her on when he started making them increasingly ridiculous, but so far she hasn't budged. Now he's starting to get afraid his plan may actually backfire.

* * *

The next night, it's all set to go down.

Robin is doing a live remote with New York's oldest hansom cab driver during the 11pm news while Barney watches from MacLaren's, where he made sure to have Carl turn all on the TVs to Metro News 1.

"In your past sixty years on the job, what is your most exciting memory?" he watches Robin ask, and Barney perks up.

"This is it," he whispers beneath his breath. Standing up with his drink in hand, ready to toast the awesomeness that's about to happen, Barney addresses the bar. "Everyone, everyone, if I may direct your attention to the television, you are about to see something amazing."

Outside, just across from Central Park, Robin has the plan memorized. She'll finish up this humdrum interview, climb down from the carriage, and once on the ground she'll end her report by doing the dance and reciting Barney's script. She's ready to do it all, get her thousand bucks and get out of here – because not only is this _not_ news, but the horse next to them just took a dump in the street and it's starting to smell.

She can barely contain her impatience as Henry the hansom cab driver continues to drone on about the fourth time Mickey Mantle rode in his cab back in '72. She half drowns him out, putting on her game face and mentally preparing for her most humiliating challenge yet, when she catches Henry say, "But the most exciting moment, that would have to be _this_ one, right now."

"What?" she asks, surprised.

"Look at me!" Henry declares in pure happiness. "I'm on TV! I never thought I'd have my story told." The man turns to her with a look of serine gratitude. "Thank you, Miss Robin Scherbatsky. Thank you."

And all at once Robin recognizes what a mistake she's made this past week. She may report fluff pieces and no one but Barney may be watching, but still, look at the difference she made to this man – and it's surely the same with the owner of the hotdog cart too. This isn't what she wanted to be doing with her life, not even close, but that doesn't mean her job isn't truly important all the same.

She nods, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's an honor to tell your story, Henry."

Barney watches Robin look directly in the camera as she stands up inside the cab and starts an inspiring declaration. It's clear she believes in herself again; she's got her pride and self-respect back, and that's wonderful to see.

But now that means he won't get to witness the Icky Shuffle.

Much more importantly, he reminds himself to focus, it means Robin won't do a damn thing about her job. With the assignments Metro News 1 doles out, it will only be a short matter of time before she's discouraged again – and this horse driver can't follow her around 24/7.

But then, just as Robin's pledging that despite their low viewership, she herself still takes pride in what they do, her boot slips on the metal edging of the stairs and she goes tumbling down from the carriage, landing with a SQUISH directly in the pile of poop.

"Oh! Oh my God, _I'm covered in horse crap_!"

The camera pans down and Barney soon discovers how accurate her statement was. Either there is something seriously wrong with that horse, or they've been shoveling the poop for the whole carriage fleet there because there's a huge mound of it, and Robin's fallen right in the middle.

"Ow," she says, trying to lift herself out of the poop and in the process feeling the pain from the fall she took. When she finally manages to sit up, she can see her oozing locks and that causes a new exclamation. "Oh my God! _It's in my hair_! Oh my – ouch!" she breaks off again as she attempts a kneeling position to push up off the ground. "Ow, oh my knee."

The live remote cuts off then and Barney is left standing there, decidedly torn between the undeniable awesomeness of what he just witnessed and feeling genuinely bad about it because the butt of the joke in this case was Robin.

* * *

"That was beyond my wildest dreams," Barney playfully tells her as he walks into Robin's dressing room. But after just one look at her any further teasing remarks die in his throat.

She was such a mess – literally and figuratively – after the horse poop incident that Robin's producer felt bad for her and let her use Sandy's shower to clean up while Patrice got her a change of clothes. Right now she's sitting in her makeup chair in sweats and a t-shirt with a towel wrapped around her shoulders and her hair still drying.

She looks up at him with a faint frown. Mostly she just looks miserable. "I can't take any jokes right now, Barney. I just scrubbed myself for a good half hour to get the smell out. I had to wash my hair five times."

Barney clears his throat tactfully, pulling over a chair to sit beside her. "Look, I know it may not seem like it now, but I'm really not some coldhearted prick who just wanted to watch you dance like a puppet on a string. Sure, that's part of – okay, most of – the fun with other people. But with someone as strong and fierce as you…..watching your spirit get broken was just, well, _sad_. And the whole manure thing, while somewhat way awesome," he admits, and Robin rolls her eyes, "wasn't what I had in mind at all. I just, I thought if I could make you see how much they've been undervaluing you here that would give you the push you need to find something else, something new where you can actually be doing what you've wanted to do."

"I never meant for this – " He gestures at her wet hair and sweats. " – to happen, and I sure as hell didn't mean to make you give up on yourself...Because you shouldn't...because I've never met anyone like you and there's no doubt in my mind that you can do whatever you set your mind to." He reaches over and picks up a piece of her wet hair, worrying it between his fingers before mischievously flinging it back at her, grinning as it lands across her cheek, leaving droplets of moisture on her lips. "I'm terrible at this stuff, but I _am_ sorry this whole thing got so out of hand...Maybe I'm just an asshole."

Robin shakes her head. "No. You're not."

"No, you're right; I'm awesome," he readily agrees, making her laugh.

"It's alright. I get it, Barney."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I really do. I understand you meant well. The reason behind it, that was sweet. But I...I don't think there's anything _to_ be done." She looks around at the broom closet she calls an office, looks out further to the darkened studio beyond and a desk she'll never sit behind. "When I first got this job in _New York City_, I was so excited – and scared too, but the good kind of scared, the kind where it's this adrenaline rush of a big new challenge and you know your life's about to change forever. It felt like all my dreams were coming true. And then I got here, and I realized what Metro News 1 really is. But at first I rallied. I told myself it was a setback but one I'd overcome. I had this crazy idea that _I_ could be the one to make all the difference, that I could turn things around, turn the whole station around and within six months we'd all be delivering real, serious news. But I know now I was only fooling myself. I can't do it. I will _never_ be able to turn things around here." She shrugs sullenly. "I guess I'm just not good enough."

"Hey, Robin," he says surprisingly gravely, making sure she holds his eye. "That's not true. What did I just say about doing anything you put your mind to? You're good enough for Metro News 1. The problem is you're _too_ good for them."

"But it's more than just that. What if it's not a matter of being talented and driven and devoted to your craft? What if my dad was right and I'm just not cutout for this business…for this town?"

"You want to be more cutthroat? I can teach you to be cutthroat," he offers like it's an easy fix.

"Thanks." Robin twists her mouth up cynically. "But I got all the lessons I need in being cutthroat from my dad. That's not the problem….I don't know," she grasps blindly, because she honestly doesn't know exactly what's the matter with her, why she feels so damn ready to give up. "Sometimes I feel like I just don't fit in, like I won't ever belong here."

A deep line of apprehension furrows Barney's brow. "What are you saying? Are you thinking about moving back to Canada?"

"No," Robin replies adamantly enough that his heart returns to its normal rhythm. "I love New York. Even if it turns out I can't make it here, I still love it. But I've been here for months and all I have to show for it is Patrice. Even my dogs came from Canada."

"Now you've got me," he reminds her, "and I'm awesome enough that I've gotta equal ten, maybe twenty, other people."

"Yeah, now I have you," Robin smiles. "And I appreciate that, I really do." She sighs heavily as she sweeps her hair to one side, lifting the towel off her shoulder and wrapping it around her hair, using it to squeeze out the remaining water. "I'm sorry for all of this. I know it's stupid; I'm being stupid. But sometimes I still feel like such an outsider. Something happens – like those horrible guys who kept mocking me on the way over with 'Ow, my knee!'" she parrots their insultingly childish voices, "and 'It's in my hair!' – and, just like that, I miss how welcoming and kind people are back home….Or I might get really excited about something and slip into my old accent for a word or two, and suddenly people are looking at me like I've grown a second head."

"Well, that's just because not everyone here speaks Canadian. But, Robin, that doesn't mean – "

"It's okay, Barney," she stops him with a smile, setting a hand to his leg. "I'm just a little homesick and feeling sorry for myself right now, but I'll get over it. And I don't want you to think any of this is your fault, because what you were doing was a good thing. I mean, really messed up and borderline sociopathic, but with good intentions. Come to think of it," she grins, "that pretty much sums you up entirely."

"Aww, you're so sweet," Barney coos.

"Come on," she laughs, patting his leg as she stands up. "Let's get out of here."

"How about we have a late dinner?" He looks down at her sweatpants, t-shirt, and still-damp hair and screws up his face. "Someplace casual."

"Shut up." Robin shoves her hip into his shoulder to Barney's laughter.

"And we'll figure out what your options are beyond Metro News 1."

* * *

During dinner the two of them talked and Robin decided she's going to look for something better. Then, once she has a new position secured, she'll quit Metro News 1.

All and all, things had gone well.

Still, what she said about being homesick continues to stay with him. It was in the back of Barney's mind all throughout dinner and continues to be on the car ride home. He just can't stop thinking about how _sad_ she seemed. When he left her, Robin was back in good spirits, but though she may have gotten over it for now as she claimed she would, he still wants to do something for her to solve the problem permanently.

By the time he arrives at his apartment building Barney's already come up with an idea, and the second he gets back in The Fortress he whips out his phone and calls Marshall.

"Hey, dude," Marshall answers sounding sleepy but congenial enough. "Why are you calling so late? Wait, did you get another public urination citation? Barney, you've got to stop peeing anywhere you want to."

"No, it's not that." As an FBI man, even one working in something as nonthreatening as corporate corruption and espionage, he could pull a few strings to get out of those citations on his own anyway if need be. But since he _is_ undercover, tasked with fitting in with the goodtime 'bros' of GNB, the bureau decided it would be best if he handled any legal troubles the same way they do: by using knowledgeable lawyers and high-powered friends to get out of it. "I need a favor, and I was hoping you could help me out. You know how we do lots of international business at GNB?"

"Man, I've told you," Marshall exclaims uneasily, "I don't want to hear about _anything_ you guys do there. It's easier to claim plausible deniability if I'm actually in the dark."

"Psh, it wouldn't matter anyway," Barney scoffs. "Attorney/client privilege. Besides, that's not what this is about." He still has every intention of keeping Robin his little secret for now, so he thought up this subterfuge on the elevator ride up. "I have this new client from Canada and I'm looking for someplace authentically Canadian to make him feel at home where I can sell him on the pitch. I just thought with you being somewhat from that sphere, and the whole Little Minnesota you've got going at The Walleye Saloon, maybe you could hook me up with something similar from above the border."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Robin spends the weekend searching out new job leads, sticking to what she told Barney. But come Monday afternoon, her producer informs her Joel Adams wants to see her after work. She can already see the writing on the wall and immediately calls Barney.

"Looks like my career plans are getting a jumpstart," she wryly informs him.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm getting called in for a big meeting. I think my boss must have finally watched our broadcasts." He hears her let out of huff of agitation. "I was going to wait until I found something first, but there's no way I'm going to let myself be fired from a job I was about to quit anyway."

"I'm sorry, Robin. But this is a good thing, right?"

"I guess…."

He can tell she doesn't really believe it. "I'm taking you out tonight after work. I'll meet you at the station. I think I know just the thing to cheer you up."

"I'm not sleeping with you, Barney," she jokes unenthusiastically.

"Nice try, Scherbatsky. But, geez, everything isn't always about sex."

"What?" Robin asks with a hint of a smile in her tone. "You're the one who always – "

But she hears a click, letting her know he's hung up.

* * *

Barney is waiting in the town car with Ranjit when Robin comes out of the building and lets herself into the car.

"Hello!" the driver gives his usual greeting.

"Hey, Ranjit!" Robin returns his welcome.

Barney instantly notices a totally different attitude about her. She seems keyed up and excited. He figures she's buzzing on the adrenaline rush of finally letting Metro News 1 know what she thinks of them. "So? Did you do it? Did you quit?"

She turns to him, taking a deep breath. "No."

"Robin," he frowns.

"Let me finish: I didn't _need_ to. It seems that, thanks to your little game, I've gained something of a cult following online. Thousands of new followers for myself and the network." Her face lights up with a mystified smile. "And get this; the whole falling in horse poop video went viral after someone put it on Youtube."

Barney beams. "I know! That was me!" She looks at him sharply. "What? No, it wasn't," he tries.

Robin gives him a smirk that says she knows better. "Well, as humiliating as it was, because of all that I've been _promoted_ – from field reporter to co-anchor right alongside Sandy!"

"Really?" he says, pleased for her.

"I mean, it's still Metro News 1, but it's definitely better. Maybe I can turn things around, after all," she asserts with a broad grin.

"Robin, that's great!"

"You're not mad that I stayed?" she asks tentatively.

"Mad?" He gives her a look like she's crazy. "Why would I be mad? If you're happy, I'm happy."

"Thanks, Barney," she smiles.

"Okay." He claps his hands, rubbing them together. "Tonight's mission has officially changed from cheering you up to celebrating _hard_."

Robin giggles happily. "MacLaren's?"

"Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But tonight I've got someplace extra special in mind."

* * *

"Now remember," Barney tells her as Robin sits in the back of the town car with his hands over her eyes, "I don't condone anything you're about to experience. This is all for you. Keep your eyes closed," he instructs as he moves his hands to hers, helping her out of the car and onto the sidewalk. "Alright, open them and look right across the street."

Her eyes flutter open to see a bar front with a big lit sign above that reads Hoser Hut. "Are you serious right now?!" she exclaims, taking it all in.

There's a red and white canopy leading up to the door with the bar's name repeated along with a red maple leaf the size of her torso, and another black sign hangs overhead with two hockey sticks crossed like swords. The ambience is completed with a large neon maple leaf in the front window above another neon sign advertising Labatt.

"Oh, I am deadly serious, Robin. Welcome to the Hoser Hut, America's premiere Canadian bar."

He leads her inside and it's like she's instantly stepped over 3,000 miles back into her hometown. The bar is decorated in all things Canadian: hockey paraphernalia, snowshoes on the wall, mounted deer and moose heads – there's even a Vancouver Canucks jersey. Antlers and little Canadian flags are everywhere, and the far wall is adorned with pictures of various Canadian celebrities with landscapes of the Canadian wilderness peppered in. There's a large painting of the queen in a place of honor behind the bar and, a little further beyond, a pair of skates hang at the ready right beside the flat screen above the bar that's broadcasting hockey. Finally, directly adjacent to them, the same crossed hockey sticks as outside are hung on the wall as well as a proudly unfurled Canadian flag right above the karaoke stage where a guy is currently singing a Crash Test Dummies song.

"Oh my god, Barney, I love it!" Robin gushes elatedly. "How did you find this place?"

Barney shrugs as if he didn't just go out of his way for her. "A friend told me about it."

"You have another friend from Canada?"

"No, Minnesota. They have their own bar too. I asked him to look into it and he found this one for me."

Robin smiles affectionately. "You mean for _me_," she softly corrects.

Barney only grins, brushing off her praise like it's no big thing. "Feels like home, right?"

"There's one way to find out." Biting her lip with excitement, she purposefully bumps into the man directly in front of her.

"Well, sorry there," he says in a thick Canadian accent. "Didn't see ya. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"Okay, sorry aboot that." He reaches down onto the table and grabs a bakery box, opening it for her. "Have a donut on the hoose."

"Thanks," Robin smiles, taking one.

"Wait a second," Barney scowls. "You bumped into him and _he_ apologized – and gave you a donut 'on the hoose'?" he mimics.

"Not just any donut, a _Timmy's_ donut," she basks, taking a bite. "Oh, it's just like home!"

He shakes his head, half in wonder, half in disgust. "I'm glad you're happy, Scherbatsky, but I don't get it. There is _nothing_ special about _Canada_. You want to impersonate a Canadian? Just turn of the lights and get all scared!"

"What?" Robin laughs. "You think Canadians are afraid of the dark?"

"Uh, I don't just _think_. Everyone knows that. It's like, hey, how many Canadians does it take to change a lightbulb? 'What?'" he impersonates again in an exaggerated accent. "'Oh no, the lightbulb's out?! I'm scared!"

"Barney, that is insane."

"Psh, no, it's not. I heard it from a friend who has firsthand knowledge," he brags.

She shoots him a suspicious look. "The same friend who found you this place?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Stupid Minnesotans and their Canadian prejudices," she mutters.

"Forget the shortcomings of your people, Robin. Let's have some fun! Tonight, for you, I'll even agree to drink Canadian beer."

Laughing, Robin takes his hand and pulls him toward the bar.

The hours go by and he actually does enjoy himself. Robin even gets him to do Canadian karaoke with her. And all the while she's so happy that Barney mentally high-fives himself for having the idea.

When it's nearing in on closing time and the two of them get up to leave, Barney accidentally brushes against the wall and knocks the light switch down, sending the newly darkened bar into a panic of screams and cries for help.

"Sorry!" he shouts to be heard above the commotion as he switches the lights back on. "It's gonna be fine! Sorry."

Looking to Robin, Barney gives her a cocky grin.

"Well, no one _likes_ the dark."


	21. The Lemon Law

That Saturday, Barney winds up on his own since Robin's at Metro News going over details of her new job, James is hanging out with Tom, and the gang all claim to be catching up on work – Ted polishing up some building, Marshall busy with a case, and Lily grading whatever kind of homework kindergarteners do. Yet Barney takes his solitude in stride, deciding to use the time to line himself up a little somethin-somethin.

He's at MacLaren's hoping to do just that when Robin unexpectedly slides into the booth across from him.

"I thought I might find you here," she says brightly, all smiles.

"Hey, hi." Barney manages to convey a perfect smoothness when in reality her sudden appearance has caught him off guard.

Magician that he is, he succeeds in keeping several plates spinning at once in his everyday life, never allowing his worlds to collide. He makes sure Robin never encounters the gang, who will no doubt pilfer her and make way too much out of their friendship. He keeps his mom convinced that he really does have that fake wife and son. And absolutely no one in his life knows he works for the FBI other than James. For the most part it's not even that difficult building up walls and selling lies. It feels isolated at times, but better isolated than brokenhearted; that's been his motto since Shannon.

But when things fall out of his control and immediate maneuvering, one of those plates threatens to come crashing to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Robin showing up here and now, with the gang just upstairs and the threat looming overhead of them potentially coming down at any time for a late afternoon beer or lunch, is just such an instance. The odds are still slim for a run-in, but he'll have to be on the lookout.

"I thought you were at the station getting ready for Monday," he mentions nonchalantly, never giving the slightest hint of any inner tension.

"We finished early," she tells him, and it's plain to see she's majorly psyched about whatever went down. "You know me, Barney. Usually I'm not one to get all starry eyed about, well, anything. But I have a _really_ good feeling about this. For the first time, I'll be sitting behind an anchor desk delivering real news – in New York City!"

She's practically quivering with excitement and it makes him smile. "That's great, Robin."

"I know!" she beams. "And, yes, I'm fully aware I'm being a complete dork right now, but I've felt like I needed to pinch myself all afternoon."

"Hey, I've got some news of my own," Barney announces, eying the bar's entrance. "Real quick; last night was _a-mazing_."

He said it in such a sly, self-satisfied tone Robin assumes there can only be one meaning and she asks in amazement, "How'd you manage to find a hookup after we left? It was, like, three in the morning and you hadn't talked to anyone else all night."

"I was going to say I had an epiphany – but what is it with you and imagining my sex life? It's becoming a pattern." He captures her gaze wickedly. "I'm sensing some intense vicarious yearning for me."

"Either that or it's just been too long since I got laid. Not all of us have been peppering our evenings with one-night stands in between hanging out."

"Not only evenings, afternoons too. That's what secretaries are for," he says with a wink, and her eyebrows scrunch up in distaste.

"Just tell me your epiphany. We both know you're dying to."

"Okay, check it: I realized what the world of dating needs. Ready?"

"I'm waiting on pins and needles."

"A lemon law."

"A lemon law? Like for cars?"

"Exactly." He taps his nose to say she's got it right on. "From the moment the date begins, you have five minutes to decide whether you're going to commit to an entire evening. And if you don't, it's no hard feelings just, 'Good night. Thanks for playing. See you never.'" He looks at her expectantly but fails to get an immediate response. "Huh? Huh?" he goads.

"Barney, that is a terrible idea."

As always, he simply ignores negative feedback. "The Lemon Law. It's going to be a thing." Robin watches his expression perk up. "Possibly starting right now."

She turns to see where he's looking and Barney explains, "That girl's here for me. Found her on Tinder last week. Everything in her bio screamed DTF, and after one look at the dress she was wearing I was ready to swipe right all over her!"

"Ew."

"However it turns out, something revolutionary is about to go down. And with any luck so will she!" Robin slowly shakes her head and gets up to leave, but he grabs her wrist. "Hey, we're still on for tonight, right?" Her expression remains unimpressed so he sweetens the deal. "Maybe I can line us both up some action. You know I'm an excellent wingman."

A smile materializes against her will. "I'll see you back here at nine."

He grins and struts across the room to the blonde waiting at another booth. "Hi, Katie. Barney."

"Hi! It's good to finally meet you," she replies in the most nasal, grating Long Island accent that it gives even Fran Drescher a run for her money.

Barney shoots Robin a deadpan look, answering loud enough for her to hear. "Hmm, yeah. Katie, you are about to be a part of history."

Laughing, Robin heads up the stairs to the sound of a loud slap followed by Barney shouting, "Tell your friends! It's going to be a thing!"

* * *

Later that night, Robin opens the door to MacLaren's just in time to witness Barney at a table passing some girl what looks like a business card before the woman takes off in a huff.

Smirking, Robin takes a seat at the bar. She feels like something different tonight and decides to honor the city's Fall obsession by ordering a red apple martini. Within thirty seconds, Barney comes over to join her just like she knew he would. "What was that?" she asks, quirking her head back to the table he just vacated.

"Blind date. Didn't work out. Lemon Lawed," he boasts. "I had a card printed." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produces another one, handing it to her. "I put it up on my blog too, to help spread the word."

Robin peers down at the card to see what his evil genius mind came up with.

The front of the business-sized card features clip art of a little smiling cartoon lemon with the words _I'm sorry, but this date is over in accordance with The Lemon Law_. Below, it gives the address of Barney's blog, presumably for further research into what just happened to you.

"Flip it over," he grins.

She does, and the whole back of the card is filled with fine print and imitation legal jargon like you'd see on a legitimate contract. Her eyes quickly skim through, catching on _This card hereby absolves the giver from any hard feelings or question_s, and from there the statements only grow increasingly absurd until she's unwittingly reading it aloud. "_Date may be terminated for any reason including, but not limited to: tawdry attire, breath, homeliness, misplaced slash excessive body hair_." She scowls up at him. "You are such a jerk."

"No, I'm a visionary."

Looking back at the card, Robin continues to read. "_Giver may waive The Lemon Law should Lemon Lawyee immediately consent to a no-strings attached 'stand', duration of which shall be no longer than one night_." She shoots him a withering glare.

"Lemon Law! It's going to be a thing!"

Robin purses her lips. "For the record, your little Lemon Law is a symbol of everything that's wrong with our no-attention-span society."

Barney looks at her unfazed. "No. Wrong. Lemon Law's awesome."

"It takes longer than five minutes to really get to know someone." She sighs at him. "You keep giving up on people so quickly, you could miss out on something great."

"Whoa," he abruptly stops her, holding up his hand to call foul. "That sounds like pro-relationship talk if I've ever heard it. Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Robin?"

Smiling, she rolls her eyes. "I never said I don't believe in relationships."

"Uh, I'm pretty sure that's _exactly_ what you said. Like, every time we've ever talked."

"It just depends on how you define 'relationship'."

"Okay, Clinton."

"No, I'm serious," Robin laughs. "A relationship, as in dating the same person, is fine – I'd say even preferred – as long as you keep it casual and fun."

"What?" Barney questions, unable to believe what he's hearing.

She shrugs. "It's just easier. That way you don't have to go out to bars looking for suitable guys anytime you feel like sex; you have a ready and waiting supply. And it's easier to train a guy that way, when you're only dealing with one of them repeatedly." She sagely informs him, "'Practice makes perfect' is a saying for a reason."

She knows that he knows she means sexually. Of course, she doesn't admit that it's also nice to have the same guy to talk to, to know each other on a deeper level and have the companionship that comes with dating the same person for weeks.

Barney considers her point and eventually allows, "You could be on to something. _If_ chicks weren't so clingy."

"Oh, guys can be too. That's why there's a natural cutoff point."

"Hmm, disposable relationships…."

"It's the only kind I ever have," Robin declares, taking a sip of her martini.

"I'll give you that your reasoning isn't entirely flawed. But then what's the point of finding someone quote unquote 'special', as you say?"

"Because how satisfying for you is it really nailing some mindless bimbo versus nailing a woman you've got a little bit in common with, who can give you a run for your money?"

She certainly has a point when it comes to _her_. No amount of mindless bimbos could equal the thrill it would be to final nail Robin. But he's not about to admit that to her. "Nope. Chemistry wins every time," Barney maintains, now the one to shrug offhandedly. "If the girl is hot, I want to do her. End of story. I don't care how dumb she is or if we have zero in common. Chemistry. That's the only thing that matters when I'm going to be in and out – pun very much intended, what up! – and never see her again."

"Well, that's not how I operate."

"Please," he dismisses. "Don't give me that. You love sex. It's the most important thing for you too. You can't deny it."

"I didn't try to."

"So that means their looks, their body, that initial spark of attraction is the number one thing that matters."

Robin shakes her head. "No. Sometimes you might not be attracted to someone at first. They might not be your type at all, and you think that's all there is to it. But the more you get to know them, the more attractive you find them once you discover who they really are." He audibly scoffs at that and she pats his arm like he just isn't sophisticated and complex enough to get it. "You see, Barney," she divulges, her tone mischievously patronizing, "women are different than men. We don't want to sleep with a guy _only_ based on how good he looks on a bar stool."

"I never said looks were the only thing. I said you can't deny they _are_ an important thing," Barney upholds. "No one wants to have sex with a troll. Which Cindy wasn't. She was a solid 7. _And_ I was talking to her for a good five minutes before you got here. The Lemon Law isn't a snap, looks-only decision. But I knew the vibe wasn't there."

"You're only after sex, Barney," she snickers. "For sex with a 7, the vibe is always there."

"She loves _The Bachelor_, Robin. _The Bachelor_!" he reveals in horror. "She applied for the show and everything! I can't have sex with a woman who devotedly follows _The Bachelor_. She even thinks the couples are real!"

Robin grins. "I still say you have to give someone time to let these things develop."

"And I say you know right away if the potential's there or not…." His words trail off in distraction and she catches his gaze shift to the blonde at the end of the bar with the tight sweater who keeps staring at him. "Speaking of, I've got a little something on the backburner I've gotta keep warm. Be right back!"

He takes off like a flash, leaving Robin sitting there alone with her martini.

And that's the thing about Barney. She'd been lost in their repartee, the charge of it, the sparks flying. It's their own private game of foreplay – and they've been playing it for six weeks straight. Hell, it's _more_ than foreplay. The back and forth, give and take, parry and thrust working into an increasing frenzy. It's oral sex is what it is – the less fun kind. _Verbal_ sex, Robin finally decides, and they're fantastic at it. It's so good between them that she's getting closer and closer to breaking and allowing it to become _actual_ sex…..and then he does something like this and she remembers why she can't ever let that happen.

Barney returns to her side, looking complacently lecherous. "She thinks I'm the President of Russia visiting the U.S. incognito. Just think of all the depraved things I'm gonna be able to talk her into by convincing her it's a Russian tradition!"

Robin gulps her martini.

After a few lewd little cackles, he's prepared to focus again. "Okay, back to our debate."

"There is no debate. It's just that I'm a decent person and you're a pig."

"Alright." Barney narrows his eyes at her, forming an idea. "Just for that, things are about to get interesting. Say you're on a blind date. Sitting across from the table is….." He looks around the bar, singling out the most pathetic specimen and hitting on a goldmine with the dude at the opposite end of the bar. "That guy!" he announces triumphantly.

Robin looks over to find a mousy-looking man with messy dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses, wearing a worn grey hoodie and sucking on half a green olive in a particularly disgusting manner while nursing some sort of pink, girly beverage. And he's clearly all by himself too, without even a nerdy buddy who can stomach his company, as he has the newspaper out and open in front of him. Barney certainly knows how to pick them.

"You _really_ think it'll take more than five minutes to realize there will be no date number two?" Barney tilts his head cockily to better see the look on her face as she eats crow.

Ordinarily, she'd never give this guy the time of day and they both know it. But there's no way she's letting Barney emerge victorious. Swallowing down her repulsion, Robin insists, "Yes. I do."

He huffs in frustration, rolling his eyes at her stubborn refusal to admit that he wins when she's so obviously done in.

"For all I know, that guy's my soul mate."

That sends Barney into an evil grin – because her wildly overcompensating assertion just gave him the most legendary of ideas to make her admit she's wrong and that he, naturally, is right. "_Oh-hoo_, bad move, Scherbatsky."

She well anticipates his next strike and her eyes widen in apprehension as she sits frozen on her stool, still looking where Barney just was but already isn't.

"Hi," Barney says, tapping the guy's hand. "Haave you met Robin?"

"Hi," the man drawls to her, leaning over the bar with acute interest.

Fake reporter smile firmly in place, she gives a "Hi" back.

"My friend here thinks you just may be her soul mate. When destiny strikes this way, I say you two should at least give this thing a chance, say, over dinner?" And Barney gives Robin a smartass wink.

* * *

Because of travel time, Barney extended the allotted five minutes to a half an hour deadline to admit she's wrong and lemon law. Then he'll come rescue her from her own Sheldon Cooper and get her out of the worst night of her life. But Robin's not giving an inch. She's endured plenty of bad dates before. How much worse could this guy really be?

As it turns out: way worse.

Eric, her would-be soulmate, has his heart set on taking her to his favorite restaurant, and since it's only a short cab ride away she agrees. From the outside it looks nondescript, but she never knew there was even a building on this corner. "What's the name of this place?" she asks as they get out of the cab.

Eric grins from ear to ear. "The Milky War Extragalactic New Moon Orbit, but everyone just calls it by its acronym: MENO."

And already, ten minutes into the date, Robin's ready to kill Barney.

MENO, she soon discovers, is an immersive outer space themed restaurant. The hallway from the lobby looks like they're exiting a space craft, and once in the main dining area the entire restaurant is windowless. Three dimensional moon craters protrude from the walls, along with what she assumes is meant to be some sort of Martian vegetation. To top it off, at least a quarter of the restaurant's patrons are dressed as various sci-fi characters.

A purple haired seating attendant leads them to a table, takes their drink orders, and hands them each a menu. Only a minute later, Robin is startled to find Eric's rum and coke and her second attempt at enjoying a red apple martini – since between Barney ditching her for the blonde and then sticking her with this guy she barely registered the taste of her first drink – delivered to them by a waiter in a full-on alien costume.

At least the service is quick; she'll give them that. And while Eric is a total weirdo, he seems nice. The way he keeps going on about how he can't believe he's sitting here on a date with such a beautiful woman who's way out of his league is flattering.

Robin opens her menu and takes a look, determined to make the best of an awkward situation. "Well, at least it's good to know the future has ribs," she jokes, laughing to herself.

Eric doesn't so much as crack a smile. "In the future, food will most likely be served in gel cap form," he answers matter-of-factly. "Plus, cows will probably have died out by then….Or be our leaders."

It might be funny as a joke, were it not for the fact that he's completely serious. Her stomach sinks; Barney was _so_ right. Every impulse is screaming to hightail it out of here despite the licking her pride will take. But she tells herself, no; she's going to stick it out the entire evening just to spite him.

Her phone rings a second later and Robin answers without even looking, more than half hoping for some kind of work emergency. "Hello."

She hears mocking laughter on the other end of the line.

"Time's running out, Scherbatsky. Last chance for the Lemon Law, and then you're on your own."

Now she's definitely not going to give him the satisfaction. "Leave me alone," she answers in a tense whisper. "We're only just getting to know each other."

Robin glances up to see Eric chewing on his straw and Barney can practically hear her shudder.

"Say I'm right and this could all be over," he taunts. "_This_ could be your call from the hospital."

"Sorry," she retorts, hanging up on him. No matter what she has to stomach, there is no way she's letting him win.

* * *

An hour later, Barney gets a text from her that's just a series of swear words. Smiling, he instantly calls her. "Hey, Scherbatsky. How'd it go? You two set a wedding date yet? Where are you?"

"As it happens, I'm only ten minutes from your apartment."

"Great! Come over and tell me how it was."

"Only if you make me some suitable dinner."

"That bad, huh?"

"The food at MENO might as well have been in gel cap form!" she mutters sarcastically.

"Not sure what that means, but I can scrounge up something to eat. I warn you though, I cook naked," he impishly adjoins.

"Never mind."

"No! No!" Barney laughs. It's the first time she's agreed to come up to his apartment and he's not about to blow it. "I'll make an exception for you. I'm already making an exception letting you into The Fortress without a sex visa."

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"I'll tell you when you get here."

* * *

"Your rule is no woman comes upstairs unless she lets you bang her?" Robin says the moment he opens his door. "No wonder the doorman gave me that look when I asked for your apartment number. He must think I'm _really_ desperate."

"No, he thinks you're about to have the time of your life."

She snorts. "So this is the great Fortress, live and in person."

"One and the same." Barney puffs up proudly as he ushers her inside. "You are now in the heart of bachelor country. And as a woman, you're an illegal immigrant here." Robin walks further into his living room, her eyes busy absorbing all the details, and he continues to talk as he crosses over to the bar. "Up until now, the only exception has been for those who apply for a sex visa – and even that only lasts twelve hours...well, fourteen if you qualify for multiple entry, heh!"

Her lips turn upwards ever so slightly as she sinks down onto his leather couch. "Is – is that a TV?" She points straight ahead to what looks suspiciously like a screen, but she can't see how it possibly could be since it takes up the entire wall above the fireplace all the way up to the ceiling.

"Yep. A three hundred inch flat screen. They only sell them in Japan, but I know a guy," he brags. "They ship it over in a tugboat like freakin' King Kong!"

She laughs easily, enjoying his company already. But her soft giggles turn into a wince when he switches it on. "It hurts my eyes."

"Yeah, that doesn't go away." She squints over at him and he turns the TV back off. "No, I'm kidding; you do eventually get used to it. Here." Barney walks out from behind the bar and hands her a glass. "Your first Penicillin Cocktail, made with thirty year Glen McKenna to boot. I figured you could use one after the night you've had."

"Tell me about it." Robin snatches it from him and takes a greedy sip. "Oh, this is _amazing_."

"Told you. Now how'd your date go?"

Her eyes fall closed in dismay just remembering it, and she gulps down some more of her cocktail.

"I love it!" he glories. "You come up to my apartment after midnight voluntarily, and you get your own self drunk. Maybe you will be applying for that sex visa after all…."

"Tonight, that wouldn't even be the creepiest thing I've been through," she teases to his glower. "How do you think it went, Barney? It was as awful as you knew it'd be. He took me to some space restaurant where the waiters dress in green robes and amber amulets – and, oh yes, _they all have alien masks with buggy black eyes_! The food was terrible, the conversation worse. He thought I was a prostitute," she divulges, and Barney gets a good snicker out of that. "But that wasn't even the worse part. Then he told me he didn't have _a lot_ of money, and asked what he could get for twenty bucks. It was terrible."

"See, I was right. Say it…." he coaxes.

"Fine." She heaves a heavy breath, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Barney, you were right."

"Ha-ha! _I_ was right," he hoots as he sits down beside her with his drink.

For the first time, Robin notices Barney has taken off his jacket since earlier. His sleeves are rolled up too, and the first button or so of his shirt is open, allowing her a glimpse of the chiseled tanned body beneath. She feels a little shiver that she blames on the alcohol….But she knows that's a lie when she finds herself wondering what the inside of his bedroom looks like, even contemplating asking him for the tour.

She blows her hair out of her face, disappointed in herself. "I guess the only thing that does matter is how hot a person is and how much you instantly want to jump their bones."

Robin looks so troubled at the notion that it makes Barney's victory feel less awesome, and for some reason he finds himself blurting out a truth she never would have found out otherwise. "Actually, maybe not."

She looks over at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Remember the blonde at the end of the bar who kept making eyes at me? The one I convinced I was Vladimir Putin?"

"Yes, and for some weird reason she found that attractive" is Robin's catty answer.

"Nothing weird about it. If a guy can persuade a whole country into doing his bidding, she figures he's got what it takes to get her off."

"How does one equal the other? If she had any common sense, she should be afraid of getting murdered the second she displeased a guy like that."

"Oh, she was _very_ willing to please, believe me. But it's simple: for a chick, power is the greatest aphrodisiac of them all. That, and being kind to small animals. Makes them think you'd be a good father," he explains. "But that type of woman is best avoided if you can. She's the _last_, last resort. Because pretending you want to raise a happy little family all night just for twenty minutes worth of mediocre, conventional sex is a real drag."

"So what happened with _this_ girl?" she gets him back on track.

"Well, I had just gotten the busty little Russophile – "

"The what?"

"Someone who loves all things Russian."

"Oh."

"To go home with me. We were just to the point where clothes were starting to come off – " He hesitates.

"But?" Robin helps him out.

"But…" Barney sighs, and then the rest all comes spilling out. "But she was so _dumb_! I mean, Forest Gump level. It ended up being a huge turnoff and I couldn't go through with it. _The B-man actually couldn't go through with it_! Can you believe that?! These two hands had more sense than she did; believe it or not, I wanted them more than her! I had her right there, topless against the kitchen counter," he relays, his voice distressed at his own perceived shortcoming. "I could've been Lil' Barney deep inside of her. And I couldn't. go. through. with. it!"

He raises his hands in dismay. "I can't explain it. It was just this tragic downer, like how you feel when you're boning a sex doll. It's got all the right curves, but vacant eyes and completely empty upstairs. Plus, she would _not_ shut up! She kept asking me if I could get her into The Louvre – she thinks it's in Moscow. Who knew stupidity could cause a Stinson derection?" He shakes his head in wonder. "I'll have to add it to the list alongside fatties, pregos, over 30s, and women wearing purity rings," he says with a shudder.

"You know I'm twenty-nine, right? That means by July next year you'll no longer want to sleep with this? Never mind." Robin shakes herself out of it. "It doesn't matter. The point is tonight showed that getting to know each other _does_ count," she grins. "Personalities that click are key even for just a one-night stand. You proved that yourself."

"I suppose you're right," Barney accepts it begrudgingly. "But only to an extent. The gut attraction has to be there too. _You_ proved that."

"Yeah," she realizes. "I guess neither one of us was wrong. A little of _both_ is the best way." The recipe for a perfect relationship is two people who've gotten to know each other, who have that intellectual and emotional connection, but who also have a palpable spark; that's equally important. It brings Robin to a frightening conclusion, one she reaches just as he voices it aloud.

"_We_ have both…." His expression is warmly seductive and his eyes fall to her mouth as he invades her space. All at once she has the overwhelming urge to take ahold of his shirt and pull him the rest of the way into a kiss.

But she doesn't. Instead, she says in a low, husky whisper, "Over thirty, my ass. You're still gonna want this."

"Your ass? Absolutely."

Robin just laughs, raising her glass. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers," Barney agrees, bringing their glasses together. Once they each take a drink, he adds, "And to The Lemon Law!" raising his glass again. But she steadfastly refuses to cheers him to that.

"Fine," he shrugs. "Self-clink!" And he snatches her glass away from her, doing just that.

* * *

**AN**: Barney's Lemon Law cards and the text within are real, canon things from the show that can be found on Barney's Blog, which is still available a few places online if you're curious. In fact, for future note, anytime I reference something on Barney's Blog or in _The Bro Code_ or _Playbook_ I'm most likely quoting something directly from the actual source. I believe in that level of authenticity!


	22. The Playbook

After their toast, Robin fills Barney in on more of the horrible "date" she just endured until she inadvertently guilts him into a concession.

"Okay, Scherbatsky, fair is fair." He gets up from the couch and walks toward the hallway. "Since we agreed we were both right, I have a little something to make it up to you." Pressing a switch beneath the edge of the frame, Barney activates a hidden chamber behind his magic poster and retrieves a book from within.

"Is that what I think it is?" Robin asks eagerly.

"Yep," he grins, setting the one and only original _Playbook_ down on her lap. "Tomorrow night, we run a joint play together."

"Awesome!" She immediately opens up the large hardbound book, thumbing through.

"Whoa, hold your horses, Scherbatsky. You can't go out into the field on a whim. Something like this requires finesse. We have to find just the right play for us. I've been mulling it over and I marked a few I think will work. This is the first one." He indicates a sticky note tab.

Robin flips to that page and scans over a two person wingman play called "The Prince Akeem". "Who is Prince Akeem?"

"Who is – ?" Barney sputters, shooting her a disapointed look. "From the movie _Coming to America_." She just stares at him blankly. "You know, with Eddie Murphy." Now she shakes her head 'no'. "Come on! He plays this prince from some rich, obscure African country and he wants to get out of an arranged marriage so he runs away to American with Arsenio Hall, who plays his servant or something, and they try to find a woman he can fall in love with."

"_Oh._" She nods in understanding. "So it's a rip-off of _Love in the Great White North_?" At his aghast look, she counters, "Don't tell me you've never seen_ Love in the Great White North_! It's only _the_ greatest Canadian romantic comedy of all time. Jean Jacques is the prince of Monaco and he travels incognito with his butler, Bouchard, on a secret quest to Quebec to find a wife, because that's where his estranged mother imigrated from in the 1960s to escape the October Crisis in – "

"Stop! That's enough weird Canadian-ese." He shudders in repugnance.

"Fine, but it's a good movie."

"Back to finding a play. Now, the whole prince aspect can be difficult to pull off for a firsttimer, so I was thinking we could do a combination of "The Prince Akeem" and this other one-person play." He sits down next to her, flipping the book to another page he marked.

""_The Lorenzo Von Matterhorn"_," Robin reads aloud. "_Generate a series of websites devoted to the incredible life of your fake persona and upload them to the World Wide Web_."

"I've done this one before so that part's all set. Lorenzo Von Matterhorn is a charitable, multi-billion dollar entrepreneur who also happens to be very eligible and very uncommonly well-endowed," he winks. "Instead of a prince, I'll just be Lorenzo Von Matterhorn again, and instead of my manservant you can be my personal assistant, there to help sell the validity of who I am." Barney claps his hands at the brilliance of it. "With a woman doing the pitch, it'll go over even better! Girls trust their own kind. They won't think you're out to help me get laid."

"Wait, what am _I_ getting out of this? I thought this was a joint play meant to go both ways?"

He shrugs. "Usually the wingman just takes advantage of the scraps, like a remora latched onto a shark. If a girl thinks he's bros with a king – or in this case a multi-billionaire – that ups _his_ desirability too."

Robin grimaces. "I really don't want to sleep with any guy douchy enough to be a male gold-digger. Can't we take the whole 'assistant to you' thing and spin it off into a secondary play for me?

"Great idea." Barney holds a finger aloft in inspiration. "In fact, I have a play specially written just for women. Turn to page 84."

She does and finds a graphic of a replicate cover, this time entitled _The Playbook For Chicks!_.

Robin looks up at him, impressed, and he smiles self-importantly at his own vision and forward-thinking. "Hey, women wanna get some too."

"Wow, Barney, this is actually pretty enlightened of you." But then she keeps reading. _This book is dedicated to women dumb enough to think they need a book to pick up guys._ "_You only need two things to pick up a guy. Hint: your nipples live on them_," she recites, deflated. "Okay, I take it back."

She's about to close the book when he stops her. "No, no. Flip to the next page. There really is a play you can use."

Sighing, she does what he asked and discovers "The Chick", a play rated with a 1000% success rate on "any man, anywhere, anytime". The instructions are as follows: _Pick a dude; look at him; have sex with him_. "Very funny."

Barney cackles wickedly.

"I'm serious," she says in exasperation. "Yes, I can get a guy to sleep with me anytime I want, no problem. But this isn't only about sex. It's about the fun of the game, running the play, pulling one over. You of all people know that."

"Fine," he concedes, and begins flipping through _The Playbook_ with serious intentions now. "How about this one?" he suggests, stopping midway through the book. "I think we could do this with a woman as the primary."

Robin takes one look at the play called "The Doogie", where you pretend to be a former child star, and a panicked "_No_!" escapes her. "No way. Absolutely not."

"Why?" Barney questions, shocked by her outburst.

There's no way she's letting on why that actually triggered such a reaction. "Just….no. I don't like that one, okay?" If he ever found out the real reason it's so off-putting to her, Robin knows she'd never hear the end of it.

"Alright, we don't do "The Doogie"," he relents, giving her a weird look before he starts paging through the book again. "Alright, Scherbatsky, does this one meet with your approval?"

She scans over "The Rorschach", where you pretend to be a psychologist doing research. After getting the mark to agree to help by interpreting several inkblots, you act all concerned as if there's something gravely wrong with what they saw. Then when they freak out and insist you tell them your professional opinion, you end by saying, 'You're suffering from a serious mental disorder: sex deprivation. Obviously, there's only one way to treat your condition'. And then the two of you end up in bed. "I have serious concerns over the _actual_ sanity of any woman who would fall for that."

"You'd be surprised." Barney puffs up smugly.

"I'm sure it would work on a guy because it's basically the same as just saying 'I want to have sex' – except it's way more complicated and takes longer," she sardonically points out. "But there's just as little challenge to it."

"Challenge is what you're after, hmm?" Barney mentally goes through his various sex schemes. "Oooh, I know just the play!" He turns the pages until he gets to "The Barney Identity". "It'll be perfect for a badass like you, especially if you bring along one of your guns."

That has her attention, and she listens as he details the basics.

"You pick a target you wanna bone. Walk up to the dude and whip a pen out of your bra – that already gets him distracted cause now he's looking at your boobs; be sure to wear something low-cut. Ask him to hide the pen, and when he asks why tell him that's classified but it's a matter of national security. Look all intent and concerned until he hides it somewhere on his person and then sprint out the door. You come back ten minutes later looking like you've been chased and say the two of you have to get out of here because 'they're looking for you'. Tell him you need someplace safe to defuse the pen bomb, and once he takes you back to his apartment, unclick the pen then exhale with relief and tell him, 'Not only did you save my life, but the lives of countless innocent Americans'. And then you enjoy some we-just-saved-the-world sex into the wee hours."

"Huh," Robin considers, forming a keen, sly smile. "That could work for me…."

Barney smiles along with her. He can tell she gets off on the subterfuge and he loves that about her. "And I'll tell you what; because I'm feeling extra generous tonight, I'll even let us do it at the Hoser Hut." He elbows her with a waggle of his eyebrows. "When's the last time you had a little Canadian in you, Scherbatsky?"

She meets his gaze with a deadpan expression. "Logan Emerick, freshman year of college. He wasn't working with a lot."

Barney grins at that, but his curiosity gets the better of him. "He was the guy who couldn't manage to…how to put this delicately – ?"

"When have you ever?"

" – light your fire?"

"_One_ of them," Robin smirks, and he shakes his head deliberately. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just; what kind of man could leave a woman like _you_ unsatisfied, and then just walk away and call it a day?" he asks incredulously.

"It's a higher number than I'd like it to be."

"Well, here's to making sure your sparks get fully ignited tomorrow night."

* * *

Robin steps out of a cab in front of the Hoser Hut and the instant she sets eyes on Barney she blinks three times against the effect the sight has on her. He looks _good_. He always does, but tonight he looks _too_ good, dangerously good when she's already begun to have serious trouble telling him no.

He clicks his tongue, nodding at her as if he's read her mind. "I know. It's a Kiton K-50; fifty cause each suit takes fifty hours to complete by fifty tailors and they only make fifty of them per year. It's a $60,000 suit."

"Oh my god, Barney."

"What can I say? Lorenzo Von Matterhorn made his first billion at the age of eighteen. I have to look the part." He straightens his tie devilishly. "And you're one to talk. Look at _you_." His eyes travel over her slowly. "You look like a million bucks."

Robin smiles at receiving the rise out of him she'd been hoping to provoke. "I dressed the part too."

Barney gives her another once-over, his gaze catching and pausing on all the best parts. She's dressed all in black: black four inch heels, a short black front-button leather skirt, and a deep V black silk halter top with a cinched band across the ribcage. He doesn't know what it's called but it's the kind where each breast has its own sling of fabric and there's only bare skin and cleavage down the middle – perfect to bury his face right there….No bra and lots of side boob on display, looking all soft and touchable. His fingers twitch at his sides.

"We don't have to go in there, you know." He captures a lock of her hair as it ruffles in the breeze, moving his hand down to brush the backs of his fingers over her neck. "I hear you've got a pen bomb that needs diffusing, and my apartment happens to be a safe house….."

"Barney, Barney," she says with a sexy smile. "You keep encouraging me to sleep with you, what would you think if I finally did and I was unimpressed?"

"Please. We both know that would never happen. You'll be impressed two or more times over, that's a guarantee – which you'll find out someday soon."

He's incorrigible, and that shouldn't turn her on as much as it does. "Not tonight, anyway."

"Have it your way." He tsks at the shame of it.

Inside, Barney selects a girl disturbingly quickly, leading Robin to hasten to find an equally hot guy, all the while feeling a bitterness she curses with every fiber of her being. But then she has no idea that Barney chose the tall brunette with the long legs and striking blue eyes because if he squints, especially after he gets a few drinks in him, she looks enough like Robin to be an appealing facsimile.

Once they've identified their marks, Barney whispers to her, "You ready?"

Robin nods. "Let's do this." She clears her throat, saying loud enough to be overheard, "Sure thing, Mr. Von Matterhorn."

She sits down at the bar beside his mark and busies herself on her phone, pretending to do serious work while scrolling through emails and listening in as Barney comes up and begins his approach.

He sidles in beside the brunette, eyeing her because he knows it will make her eye him back. "Yes, it's me…" he sighs.

"It's….you?"

"Yes, I'm Lorenzo Von Matterhorn."

"Who?"

"_Lorenzo Von Matterhorn_," he repeats slowly so she'll remember and can google it later.

"I'm sorry," she says, looking genuinely embarrassed at her apparent faux pas.

"You really _have_ never heard of me." Barney smiles warmly. "What a refreshing change of pace to meet someone who isn't only after a selfie, my autograph, my incredible wealth….or my incredible physical endowments. Excuse me," he says, reaching into his breast pocket. "I have to make a call outside." He answers his phone with his name again, spoken loud and precisely, before he walks out of the bar.

The woman immediately gets out her phone and starts to do an internet search, typing as she mumbles it aloud. "L-O-R-E-N-Z-O V-A-N – "

"It's Von," Robin whispers helpfully. "V-_O_-N."

The woman types in the correction and gets her first page of results before she even registers the interruption and looks over at Robin.

"Sorry, I just kind of overheard. I'm his personal assistant."

Her eyes light up. "So then everything it says on the internet is true?"

"Yes…..we cried together when his last attempt at surgery was ruled too risky. You know, he's battled phallumegaly all of his life, poor man." Robin returns to what she was doing, but she can see the woman from the corner of her eye typing furiously on her phone and Robin knows she's looking up the word.

The woman has just learned about his massive penis – so big it kept him from being able to ride a bike or play sports because all protective cups are too small – when Barney walks back in right on schedule.

Robin sits there playing along while he gets this girl eating out of the palm of his hand, but she gives him a pointed look when he starts hinting about the two of them going back to his apartment.

"Just let me use the restroom before we leave," he smiles to her. "Now don't go telling her any stories," Barney admonishes Robin saccharinely.

"Oh, I'll try not to brag about you too much!" Robin simpers back, launching on cue into an overview of his latest charity project.

Excusing himself to the bathroom was merely Barney's ruse, and on the way back he "accidentally" bumps into Robin's pick. Mike, as it turns out his name is, apologizes to _him_ – meaning he must be Canadian too; Robin sure knows how to pick them! – and the two start up a short conversation.

"It was good to meet you, man," Barney says, patting him on the back. He pauses and seems to weigh something in his mind, whether or not he should say anything. "….Listen, I'll be leaving shortly with my date, but I'd appreciate it if you could keep an eye on my partner over there."

"Your partner?" Mike repeats deliberately.

"Yes. Her name's Robin." Barney looks around apprehensively. "I'm a little worried about her getting home safely tonight." His eyes dart around the bar again and he cagily claims, "I really shouldn't say any more."

Then he comes back up to the bar, leans down towards Robin and whispers, "His name's Mike. He's all yours."

Not long after that, Robin walks towards the bathroom, pretending to get a call, while Barney leaves with his girl. Thirty seconds later, she emerges from the back of the bar, looking tense and on edge. Locking eyes with Mike, she walks with purpose to his side and begins the pen exchange from _The_ _Playbook_.

"Wait, what is this pen and why is it so important?" Mike questions, intrigued, once she tries to hand it to him.

"I can't say, but it's a matter of national security.

"Canadian or American?" he queries with charmed eyes.

Robin hadn't expected that, but she improvises easily. "Both. CIA. I'm Canadian; my partner's American."

"Ahh," he answers, smiling. He has no idea who this woman is, but between this and what her friend said to him earlier he's positive this is some odd pickup attempt. Not that he minds one bit. She's gorgeous and feisty; no games are even necessary to get him to take her home. He should be the one begging _her_. "Okay, sure," he answers. "If it's for the Free World." And he takes the pen from her, slipping it into the pocket of his jeans, curious to see where this will go from here.

Once he takes it from her, Robin nods her thanks and dashes outside just as Barney is getting his target into a cab.

Barney notices her and bends into the car. "Hang on," he tells the girl. "Let me say goodnight to my assistant; give her some instructions for tomorrow. I'll be right back." He closes the door to the cab and turns back to Robin.

When she sees him coming over, she walks up to him too. They meet in the middle on the sidewalk in front of the Hoser Hut, but the clouds pick that time to open up. To escape the downpour, they take refuge together under the canopy, neither one saying anything at first but neither one leaving either.

It's silly to be dawdling this way; it makes no sense. They both know they should be going their separate ways right now. They should be high-fiving over their imminent conquests, and then Barney should be running back to his girl while Robin heads inside to lock down Mike. Lingering here for no reason is way off-script. It's the last thing they should be doing and they both know it. They should be breaking off and hooking up with their chosen others. Trouble is, that isn't what either one of them actually wants to be doing.

"So…" Barney begins, taking a stab at a legitimate reason to be hanging back with her. "You gonna be alright on your own?"

"Yeah," Robin nods, quick to let him know he doesn't have to be missing out on his fun because of her. "Mike's hot. This'll work out great."

Barney slowly nods, dragging the moment out. "And you remember the play?"

"I've got this," she assures him. "And if somehow it doesn't work, I can always use my old standby." She steps in close, rubbing her hand over his invitingly and asking in a low enticing voice, "You want to have sex?"

Without hesitation, he answers with a wholehearted, "_Yes_."

She laughs softly. "Works every time."

He shakes his head at her, fighting off a grin. "That's because it's "The Chick"."

Robin smirks up at him, feeling light and happy and wanting nothing more than to just spend the rest of the night talking here with him. And it's because of that – because she _shouldn't_ be wanting that and what she _should_ be wanting is a fling with the hunky Canadian inside – her eyes dart purposefully over to the waiting cab. "I think your date's getting impatient."

Barney glances quickly over his shoulder. "Yeah, I should probably take off." But he's still hesitant to go and he masks his stalling as a lesson from Broda. "You remembered the pen, right? The pen is key to making this work."

"Yep. Pulled it right out of my shirt, like you said." She reaches into her plunging neckline, reenacting withdrawing the pen with a flourish to show him just how well she did. But when she looks up, rather than seeing the expected pride for how well she performed his play, instead she discovers he's not looking at her hand at all. He's staring hard at her breasts. "Hey pal," Robin smiles, pointing at her breasts. "These aren't the boobs you're going to be seeing tonight."

His eyes linger brazenly on them a moment longer, unashamed that he's been caught, and his gaze on her body makes Robin feel far too much for her own good.

"Not by my choice," he tells her, when he finally looks up into her eyes.

The fact that she isn't met with Seduce and Conquer Barney is what really gets her. There was something purely honest and unaffected in his tone, and the look he gives her now – not lecherous and leering but just full of raw, real, wanting – has Lil' Robin firing on all cylinders.

This is the moment where she should be making a sarcastic rejoinder, she knows….but they're standing only inches apart huddled together under the awning….and he smells so incredible….and she wants so badly to just grab him and kiss him – not soft and polite either, an openmouthed, tongue tangling kiss.

Without even knowing she's doing it, Robin edges nearer, drawn in like a magnetic pull. "What cologne do you wear?" she murmurs.

His eyes spark at that. "I keep it next to my bed. You can come see it anytime you want."

She smiles softly, her eyes locked spellbound with his. "Good night, Barney."

Before she can turn to leave, he reaches down and grasps the bottom of her skirt. Robin stands motionless, caught up in the movement of his hands as he unfastens the lowest button of her skirt, purposefully grazing his fingers over her inner thighs in the process.

His eyes hold hers all the while and it feels like he's looking all the way through to the core of her; there's no way he misses the lust there. "You're supposed to look ruffled, Scherbatsky," he says thickly, his fingers still ghosting over her skin. "Remember?" he whispers, reminding her of the play _she_ insisted on performing. Only then does he move his hands from between her legs.

Once he stops touching her, Robin turns away, feeling both disappointed and relieved…confounded and chaotic….and undeniably awakened. As she walks back into the bar, she can feel him checking out her ass.

* * *

Back in his apartment, Barney's got the brunette – Alyssa or Alyson or something that starts with an Aly-sound – naked on his bed, but she keeps talking dirty to him. In most instances that would be hot, but right now it's the wrong voice and it's taking him out of the fantasy he's got going. "Stop talking," he requests as he kisses his way from one breast to the other.

"What?" she asks, taken aback, and he can tell he'll run the risk of losing her if he doesn't play this right.

"I mean, baby, I just get so stressed during the week…running all of my businesses and charities. It helps me to relax if everything's quiet and I can be free to focus on you."

She smiles at that, pulling him down into a kiss, and the dirty talk stops. Just a second later, Barney feels her hands drifting down to cup and caresses him, and he imagines that they're Robin's. Instantly, he experiences a bolt of desire. "Oh yeah. Ahhh, that feels good."

He shoots out a hand, groping in the top drawer of his nightstand, nearly knocking the whole thing over in his rush to get a condom – and for the first time in a decade he fumbles putting it on, shaky from the physical sensations combined with the mental picture he's created. It's messed up, he knows, but it feels so good; it's the closest he can get to having her.

Tonight he's doing things missionary, burying his face in this woman's neck and pretending it's Robin he's moving inside.

* * *

Robin's somewhere on the Upper West side – they were too busy making out in the cab for her to pay much attention – feeling immensely glad for how well her play worked as she straddles Mike on his couch, kissing his neck while he undoes the last button of her skirt and peels it away. He pushes a couple fingers beneath the waistband of her black lace panties and she tenses up pleasantly, but then he stops, slowly tracing her skin.

Just above her pubic bone she has a tiny little tattoo of a capital S in scrolled black calligraphy, and he has to know. "What does that stand for?"

She blinks, following his eyes down and remembering her youthful indiscretion. It was a memento she got at the age of eighteen after having one too many Johnny Walkers. But she lies now and says it's for her last name before going back to kissing over his collarbone.

"What is the origin of that? Scherbatsky."

The nickname spoken in a breathless male voice when she's half naked and he's touching her instantly triggers a throbbing tingle of delight and a little sound escapes her, part moan and part sigh. It takes Robin a moment to even register what just happened. "What did you call me?"

"Scherbatsky? I'm sorry, it's just very unique." Worried he's offended her, Mike rushes on. "Uh, but I don't want to upset national security," he tells her with a grin. "So I'll forget I even know it, how 'bout that? And I am _loving_ what you're doing, by the way." He grips her hips, sliding her closer to the heat of him. "Please continue, Robin."

Normally, that's her cue to start grinding, but hearing him say 'Robin' actually killed the mood a little bit. "No, I – I'm not mad…..I _like_ it," she breathes, kneading his triceps. "Call me by my last name."

"Okay. Scherbatsky."

Hearing it whispered in desire combined with a male, leanly muscled body beneath her sends a shot of pleasure surging through her and Robin attacks his mouth.

Mike has no idea why that turns her on so much, but it clearly does and at the moment he's only interested in the end result. "How about we take this into the bedroom? _Scherbatsky._"

She hooks her legs around his waist. "Only if you can get there in under thirty seconds. Otherwise it's happening here."

* * *

Robin gets dressed to leave immediately afterwards, but Mike hasn't dozed off like she thought. He's in fact wide awake, watching her from his bed.

"CIA duty calls?"

With the way he said it, she's well aware they both know it's a lie. "Something like that."

He's quiet for a while as she finishes tying her shirt.

"….I'm just gonna go get my skirt."

When she's about to leave the bedroom, he calls after her. "For what it's worth, it's okay. I know getting over an ex is hard."

Robin stops, spinning around to look at him. "What do mean?"

"Your ex." This is an awkward conversation to have, especially when she's standing there in only her shirt and panties, and they were just tangled up together only minutes ago. "I don't think you realize it, but in the middle of sex you said his name."

"What?"

Mike runs a hand though his hair uncomfortably. "You, ah, you kept your eyes closed all while you were riding me, and you were running your hands over my chest and then you called me 'Barney'."

Robin's hit with a flash of alarm; actually, she feels a little sick. "I said that?"

"Yeah. Just before you orgasmed."

She doesn't say anything in reply, but her disconcerted expression speaks volumes as she turns to leave.

"Hey, if you're ever over this Barney guy, give me a call."


	23. The Slutty Pumpkin

It's the Thursday before Halloween and Barney can't stop talking about how much he loves the holiday; Robin figures it makes sense for a guy who has an endless supply of costumes for everyday life.

"And this year is gonna be particularly legendary because I'm going to – wait for it – the Victoria's Secret Halloween party. Lingerie models on a boat! That's the dream. What are you doing for Halloween, Scherbatsky? Not anything as awesome as that, I'm sure."

Robin's been mostly quiet all this time just letting Barney get it all out, but now she informs him sassily, "Oh, I can party with the best of 'em. Let me put it this way, I know how to blow a horn."

"Hey-oh!" he grins. "But seriously, where you going?"

"I haven't really thought about it. I'm not a big fan of Halloween."

"_What_?" he gasps, horrified.

"It's kind of for kids, isn't it? I mean, I haven't dressed up in a costume since I was ten."

"Bite your tongue, Robin. Halloween is most certainly _not_ for kids. It can get very adult, if you know what I'm sayin'. I've easily had all my best Halloweens over the age of twenty-one. And as far as costumes go, not only do I have one but every Halloween I bring a spare just in case I strike out with the hottest girl at the party. That way I have a second chance to make a first impression," he winks.

"Well, Metro News 1 has a big party at the station every Halloween," Robin considers. "It's about the only cool thing they do. Patrice showed me the pictures and it looks fun, but I don't know." She shrugs. "I'll probably just hang out with Mike."

Barney's posture unwittingly stiffens. "Ah, yes. Mike." She's been seeing him for a couple weeks now, ever since his stupid "The Barney Identity" play helped her pick him up at the Hoser Hut. "Wait, why don't you guys come along to the Victoria's Secret party? I can score two more tickets. I'm sure Mike would love that," he quips with a mischievously raised eyebrow.

She gives him a withering smile. "Yes, but I wouldn't. Besides, Mike still thinks you're Lorenzo Von Matterhorn."

"Really?" Barney chuckles. "Why didn't you just tell him who I am?"

Her mind silently fills in the answer to that one: because it would take Mike all of ten seconds to figure out he's the Barney whose name she called the first time they had sex – and that's a truth best left undiscovered by either man. Out loud, she responds, "And admit I totally scammed him when we met?"

"So he still thinks you're a CIA agent too? Not the brightest bulb, huh?"

"I'll ask Mike tonight what he wants to do for Halloween." A naughty smirk stretches across her face. "_I'm_ thinking about staying home and dressing up as naked people."

Barney gives her the expected high five but inwardly he feels a twinge of unmistakable jealousy. Jealousy isn't an emotion he's used to; he hasn't felt it in many years. And he's not about to start now. Always be awesome instead, so he sublimates that uncomfortably lame feeling straight into some awesomeness.

"You know what I love about Halloween?" He elbows her. "It's the one night of the year chicks use to unleash their inner ho-bag. If a girl dresses up as a witch, she's a slutty witch. If she's a cat, she's a slutty cat. If she's a nurse – "

"Wow, I get it," Robin stops him before he names the slutty variation of every costume on the market.

Barney simply ignores her. " – she's a slutty nurse. If she's a – "

This goes on for another ten minutes but Robin tunes him out.

* * *

The next day, Barney shows up at the station with Starbucks in hand.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you this morning," Robin smiles.

"Hey," he smiles back, nodding to Patrice – who, of course, is at Robin's side. "The barista made me an extra latte. You know how it is; can't seem to turn off the charm. There's more than enough calories in one." He pats his toned stomach. "Got to keep these washboards in check, so I thought I'd swing over and bring it by," he says, handing Robin her favorite Cinnamon Dolce concoction.

She suspects that's a lie and he just doesn't want to admit he did something unselfishly nice for her, but she doesn't call him on it, only thanks him, taking an eager sip.

"So, did you and Mike decide what you're doing tomorrow night?"

At the mention of the name 'Mike', Patrice shoots him a sharp glance and gives a warning, "Op, op, op."

"It's okay, Patrice," Robin stops her. "Mike dumped me last night," she explains to Barney. She can feel him studying her, trying to determine what kind of a reaction he should have. "Seriously, it's not a big deal. He just wanted to be a 'we', and I wanted to be an 'I'."

Barney shakes his head at the waste of it. "Dudes are such chicks sometimes."

"So now it looks like I'll be staying home and dressing up as a naked person by myself."

"That sounds fun, actually," he smirks.

"No, Robin," Patrice protests. "Just come to the party here. We can go as besties!"

"What about Joe?"

"He has to work late anyway."

"_Or_ you could come to the Victoria's Secret party with me," Barney offers.

Robin scoffs at that. "And be stuck on a boat surrounded by all-female underwear models while you're off the whole night trying to get one of them to sleep with you? No thanks."

"You _have_ to come to the Metro News 1 party, Robin," Patrice entreats. "We'll have tons of fun, I promise!"

"Alright, fine," she relents unenthusiastically. "Looks like I'm going to the Metro News 1 party." She turns to Barney. "See, this is why I hate this holiday."

"No! Halloween's _awesome_," Barney insists. "You just have to give it a chance." He launches into antidotes, 'historical' tales, and statistics the whole time she finishes her coffee, but he remains unable to convince her.

* * *

Robin insisted she didn't feel like doing anything Friday night, so Barney hung out at the apartment with the gang while Marshall and Lily put the finishing touches on their pirate/parrot outfits, hoping to take first prize in MacLaren's costume contest. But when he last spoke to Robin that night, although she denied it, she seemed a bit down so he arranged to meet her for breakfast at their diner.

"Are you sure you're not upset?" he asks her again Saturday morning over bacon and eggs.

"Yes. I told you, I'm fine."

"….Cause if you _were_ upset," Barney ventures carefully, "that wouldn't automatically make you a giant whining bummer. There are a lot of other factors that go into that. Actually," he says, holding a finger aloft, "I'm told being upset over a breakup is normal. Personally, I never understood what you saw in Mike to begin with but – "

"I'm not upset. Okay, Barney?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"I _am_, on the other hand, stuck going to this station party with Patrice," she grumbles through gritted teeth.

"It might not be so bad. You said yourself from the pictures it seemed pretty cool."

"Halloween parties are all about getting drunk and hooking up, you know that. Everyone's going to be pairing off like Noah's ark – and no matter what Patrice says, as soon as Joe gets there it's going to be total Couplesville and I'll be the miserable third wheel."

Watching Robin pick sullenly at her eggs – she's barely even touched her French toast with extra maple syrup! – Barney already knows what he's going to do.

It's a baffling turn of events, yet it would be a lie to say he hasn't seen it slowly coming on. Somehow something's happened to him over the past two months leaving his priorities all out of whack. He's been telling himself he's still maintaining the status quo, telling himself nothing's really changed, but it's not true.

Because suddenly now Robin's happiness matters to him. It matters more than Victoria's Secret parties. More than getting laid. More than _any_ of his own interests. Lately, he's even lost focus on the AltruCell case.

It's a frightening realization, but it doesn't make it any less true. So he knows what he's about to say even before the words come out; it seems at this point there's very little he wouldn't do to make things right for her, whatever that might take.

It's not like he's been a heartless guy before this. He's not a complete stranger to loyalty and affection. On the contrary, there's been Ted, and Marshall and Lily, and James, and his mom, and Sam, and he cares deeply about them all. But that's family. When it comes to matters of the heart, he doesn't have one. Women he meets and wants to sleep with are simply that and nothing more.

But Robin's different.

And though it's daunting losing his previously fancy free, apathetic existence and now bearing the burden of caring for someone else, at the same time when he thinks about how much fun he has with her, that extra little jump in his step whenever he's on his way to meet up with, well, then it seems like this whole 'caring about something other than yourself' thing might not be so bad.

"You're not going to be the third wheel, Robin."

"What?" She looks up from sliding her food around her plate.

"Robin Scherbatsky is _no one's_ third wheel; she's too awesome for that. If anything, you'd be a hot unicycle. But you're not even going to be that." He waits until he's sure he has her full attention. "Because I'll be right there with you tonight and we're gonna be our own bicycle of awesomeness!"

* * *

This isn't even close to what she had in mind for tonight, but all the same Robin arrives Halloween night at her office party and is exceedingly impressed.

The whole inside of the Metro News 1 building has been decorated for Halloween with a collection of cobwebs, witches, bats, mummies, ghosts and ghouls. But the center of events is the broadcast studio. Strings of orange lit latterns are hung overhead with purple LED strings lining the walls. The news desk is covered with a black lace spiderweb tablerunner and has been transformed for the night into a bar, with the cameras shoved to the back so the center of the room can be a dance floor.

A few smaller tables have been pushed up against the walls, with orange and black or crisp white tableclothes overtop, holding various appetizers and refreshments. Tucked here and there to finish off the atmostphere are pumpkins – some real, some fake, some carved, some not – in black, orange, and purple; assorted crows and owls complete with glowing eyes; black glittered Halloween trees, and several fog machines, with the studio overheads turned off so the LED strings and candles along the tabletops – both of the real and flamless variety – provide the room's only dimmed lighting.

Metro News 1 has outdone themselves. It's the perfect combination of spooky and sexy.

Robin, herself, just has the sexy part down. She steadfastly refused to dress up for Halloween, though she knows Barney will be wearing a costume. The only concession she's made to the holiday is dressing all in black: a little black dress, black lace choker, black teardrop chandelier earrings, black strappy heels, and black fishnet stockings.

Despite her lack of costume, Patrice, dressed as a chocolate chip cookie – Joe will be coming later dressed as a baker – greets her gregariously, immediately slipping a glass of punch into her hand. Robin takes one sip of the highly spiked but nauseatingly sweet beverage and shudders, setting it down on a nearby table.

If she's ever going to revel in October 31st traditions now is the time to do so, and she has to admit this is definetely her kind of Halloween. But at the moment Robin's just not in the mood for such joviality so she excuses herself from Patrice to go up to the bar and get a passable scotch instead.

What she's really doing as she takes her first hearty drink of Glen McKenna is waiting for Barney's arrival to make this night bearable, especially as she notices people already beginning to pair off, some on the dancefloor, some to the outer rooms and recesses of Metro News 1 to do Lord only knows what – but she could take a few guesses.

"Robin!" Sandy Rivers calls, appearing suddenly at her side dressed as some kind of sleazy Prince Charming. "Why didn't you come in costume? I was picturing you as a sexy cheerleader." He frowns in dissapointment. "Oh well. It will be easier to find you this way when it's time to go home tonight."

"Sandy, as we've discussed numerous times, I am _not_ going home with you."

"Alright, we'll do it in my office then."

She blows out a huff of frustration. "The location was not the problem. You know what, I think I'm just going to wait for my friend over there," she says, pointing at a spot all the way across the room.

"You invited a friend? Fantastic! Bring her along."

"It's a _he_."

"Ow, well then we better forget it. Sandy Rivers doesn't do the devil's three-way anymore – not after what happened in Tijuana."

"The devil's three-way?"

"Two forks," he leers, and Robin makes a face. "I read it on some guy's blog."

As Robin makes her escape from Sandy, unbeknownst to her, Barney has just walked through the doors of Metro News 1 and is setting out towards the studio. Though he could have been motorboating a DD lingerie model right now, he's determined to make the best of tonight here with Robin, determined to both cheer her up and make her love Halloween by the time the night is over. That includes dressing the part and then some.

Robin is already two-thirds of the way through her scotch when he steps through the doorway to the pulsing rock sounds of Rocket from the Crypt. She's had a crappy two days; she's really not sure if her nerves can take anymore, so when Barney makes his entrance just as the lead singer wails _I drink blood on Halloween. Sexy blood. It makes me feel alive_, one look at him in his costume and the words "Oh, you've got to be kidding me" involuntarily fall from her lips in a breathy whisper. It couldn't have been timed any better if he planned it – and, knowing Barney, she doesn't put that past him.

He's dressed as a vampire, but not your average Halloween vampire cliché of slicked back hair, brocade vest, and ruffle-wristed top. No, everything about him is dark and sleek, sensual and erotic.

He's wearing slim-fitted black pants, belt, and shoes just like he'd normally have on with one of his suits, but overtop he's donned a black velvet cape with a decadent red satin lining. And he's completely shirtless underneath – tanned, toned skin on prime display. It leaves no mistaking why he needs the belt either, because his pants are sitting so low on his hips that just the tiniest slip-up would break indecency laws.

She's never seen Barney shirtless before, and it is something to behold. She'd suspected from the times he'd taken off his jacket that there were some muscles going on under there, but she had _no idea_. Another thing that surprises her is the gold bar through his right nipple.

His chest is waxed smooth, a look that's always appealed to Robin. She can vividly imagine the way his pecs would feel beneath her palms. From chest to abs, he's chiseled and smooth like marble, all except for an insanely yummy, thin dark treasure trail from his bellybutton that disappears under that belt.

On his face, Barney has dark, dripping makeup beneath his eyes and white contacts with stunning black pupils to bolster the undead look. All together, Robin can't take her eyes off him; she's going to have to remind herself all evening not to stare.

Contacts or not, his eyes easily pick her out in the crowd, and when he comes to stand before her she notices that with less clothing on more of his incredible scent is free to waft from his skin. She only has one word for him. "Really?"

"Hey," he smirks shamelessly, "my inner ho-bag is _always_ unleashed. If I'm gonna be a vampire, I'm a sexy vampire. I can't help it; it's in my DNA."

Right now, Robin doesn't doubt one bit that being sexy is all up in his DNA.

"So what should we do first? I see you're already one drink ahead of me. I was thinking we hit the bar, get our drink on, get down to a little "Thriller"," he grins, bopping his head to the Halloween music being pipped in. "And then maybe we can try out another joint play, totally wing it this time. We could do a brother/sister combo. Hey, wouldn't it be cool if we pretended to be brother and sister and then we ended up boning an _actual_ brother and sister! That's the kind of weirdness that goes down on a Stinson Halloween night!"

He'd hoped for enthusiasm but mostly expected disgust, though he knew it would only be put-on. Either way, he felt certain that would get some kind of reaction out of her, but she's just staring at some couple giggling together near the refreshment table.

"Okay, Robin. What's up with you?"

"Nothing." She looks back at him, feigning a half-smile. "I'm just not big on Halloween."

"Uh-uh. It's more than that. You've been acting weird ever since you split up with Mike. What's going on?"

Sighing, she shakes her head. "It's nothing. It's stupid. Let's just enjoy Halloween; it's your favorite holiday."

"But that's just it: you're _not_ enjoying it." The music's loud and a werewolf just bumped into her; it's not exactly the best atmosphere for having a heart to heart. Looking around, he gets an idea. "Come on," he says and takes her by the hand, grabbing a lit candelabra off a nearby table as he ducks into her office away from the noise and crowds.

He closes the door behind them and she gives the candelabra a questioning look.

"I don't want to run the risk of grabbing Patrice's attention if we turn a light on. There's a crack under the door," he explains.

She nods, but stays silent.

Barney captures her gaze and holds it unremitting in the candlelight. "Robin, tell me what's wrong."

"Alright, it _is_ about the breakup."

He shakes his head, irritated with himself. "I can't believe I gave that Mike guy clearance. He's a real tool."

"It's not Mike. I wasn't even that into him. It's just – "

"Getting dumped?" Barney guesses. "His loss."

"No, it's the _way_ it happened."

"Oh. You caught him screwing some other chick?"

"I almost wish….." Robin sinks down into her makeup chair. It's hard to explain how she's feeling, what's got her upset – and she doesn't expect Barney of all people to understand. "Mike, he wanted me to be something I'm not, something I _can't_ be, no matter how I try."

Barney grimaces. "He was into dudes?"

"No," she laughs at him. "He just would call me his girlfriend – which didn't freak me out _too_ much because I told you; I'm okay with a relationship if it's causal and fun. But then he kept wanting to say 'we' and 'us' and 'our', like Robin-and-Mike were some kind of joined entity. I mean, '_We_ love tiramisu'? Don't you find that weird?! Is loving tiramisu really a group activity? He wanted us to share a brownie sundae, eating from the same bowl like it was _Lady and the Tramp_. It was just….everything," Robin sighs. "He didn't like it because I wouldn't sleep over at his place, and I didn't want to do the Saturday crossword with him. But the final straw came Thursday night after I refused to wear a matching Hansel and Gretel couples' costume with him. He said, 'I don't get the sense you like being with me', and that was that."

Barney's eyebrows pinch down. "So let me get this straight, this Mike guy was upset because you didn't cream yourself over the idea of walking around town with him looking like Barbie and Ken?"

"Pretty much."

"And you think this is your fault?"

"Well….yeah."

"Robin, if that's what he expects from a girlfriend, that's his problem, not yours. There is _nothing_ wrong with you."

She'd more than half assumed he'd say she should have just done it – only gone as a _hot_ Gretel – but this is real advice and it's actually a sweet, enlightened sentiment for all his manwhoring ways. "Thanks, Barney," she smiles up at him. "And normally I'd agree with you, but Mike isn't the first one to feel this way. Not even close. When so many people have the same problem, you've got to figure it's you, not them….The truth is," Robin admits, "I've never had a relationship last past three weeks."

"And you've wanted them to?" Barney wonders.

"Not at the time. Not with those guys. But maybe I _should_ have; it seems like that's the normal thing. But I couldn't dress up or do any of those things with Mike, or any other guy before him, because it makes me feel too….weird and _uncomfortable_. It doesn't seem natural to me. I just feel claustrophobic and trapped." She shrugs glumly. "Maybe I'm just too set in my ways. All the things they say you're supposed to be feeling, I don't. And all that lovey-dovey stuff that's just supposed to happen, it never does. People love love – you hear about it all the time in movies and books and music – but, honestly, I don't like being vulnerable with anyone…..I think there must be something wrong with me. I must be wired wrong or something. I _want_ to want that with a guy but….it just never happens." Yet something in the back of Robin's mind tells her that she could want that with _him_. If she had ran into him earlier before life made her so closed-off, she fully believes he could have convinced her to dress up, and sleep over at his apartment, and maybe even be a 'we'.

At first Barney doesn't say anything and she thinks she must have horrified him into speechlessness with her too-close-to-needy talk, but then he walks the few steps over to her and leans back against the makeup table; she's too depressed to even appreciate the abs mere inches from her face.

"Robin, let me tell you a story to put this into perspective. It's a story of the Slutty Pumpkin."

"What's the Slutty Pumpkin?"

"You mean _who_ is the Slutty Pumpkin," he commences theatrically. "I have a friend who, years ago at this Halloween party, encountered a woman in "the sexiest" pumpkin costume."

"Wait," Robin interjects, "how can a pumpkin costume be sexy?"

"It was carved in strategic places."

"Ah."

"Virtually the only thing he found out about this mysterious Slutty Pumpkin was that she drinks a cocktail she invented herself, a mixture of Kahlua and root beer she called The Tootsie Roll, because it tastes like an alcoholic Tootsie Roll."

"Hmm." Now it makes sense what he said about Kahlua the first time they went to laser tag.

"That's _all_ he knew about her," Barney continues. "Well, that and the fact that she loves Star Wars and Ewoks – but who doesn't? Oh, and she spent a year in Antarctica studying penguins."

Robin brightens up. "Ooh, I love penguins! Did you know that before intercourse the male and female emperor penguins bow to each other? Mr. Penguin." She bows, reenacting it. "Mrs. Penguin." She bows again. "Oh god, silly penguins, acting all fancy," she giggles.

She's so cute Barney can't help laughing along with her. "I'm glad that cheers you up, Scherbatsky, but not integral to the story."

"Right," she agrees, refocusing.

"My friend knew only the barebones facts about the Slutty Pumpkin, yet he claimed they had this instant connection and were soul mates or something disgusting like that. She gave him her number but he lost it later that night, and it's been _years_ now. She could be engaged or married or, God forbid, fat! But still, every Halloween he wears his same costume and goes to that same party, waiting for her in hopes she'll show up, like some kind of pathetic sexual Great Pumpkin."

It's a whimsical tale but Robin fails to see how it applies to her. "But I didn't feel that with Mike. That's the problem. It's the story of my life. Everyone else is off falling in love and acting stupid and goofy and sweet and insane. But not me."

"The point of the Slutty Pumpkin story," Barney reveals, "is that there are people in the world like that – people ready to chuck it all and say 'I do' after only a few weeks or even hours – and then there are people in the world like _us_. That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you; it just means you're not a love slut. We don't need to rush into some cliché just to prove something to ourselves or anyone else. That doesn't make us wired wrong."

"I get what you're saying, Barney, and I – I appreciate you trying – "

"But?" he puts in, already feeling it coming on.

"I know you mean well, but what do you know about this stuff, really? You don't even believe in love, and….and maybe _I_ do."

He looks at her a full thirty seconds, weighing it over whether to spill his greatest secret or let her keep thinking what she does. But she's got it dead wrong, and in the end for some reason that bothers him enough not to keep quiet. "Maybe I do too," he reveals cautiously.

She looks up at him with keen interest. "What do you mean?"

Barney mulls it over, deciding to give her just the bare bones particulars because she was vulnerable with him when she just admitted she hates to be. Quid pro bro, he always says.

"It was a long time ago. Ten years, to be exact. There was this girl, Shannon." He despises the remembered humiliation and accompanying twist of pain in his gut even now at saying her name. "We were college sweethearts. We met working our way through school at this coffeehouse and we still worked there together after graduation to pay the bills. I was _crazy_ about her. We were going to join the Peace Corp together. We had this dream of saving the world and ending world hunger. Once we got back, I planned on marrying her," he admits aloud for the first time in a decade. "We were all set to go down to Nicaragua. Only problem was she never showed up. Turns out she wasn't actually in love with me, _and_ she'd been cheating on me for over a month. She called our relationship a 'passing phase'."

"Ouch."

"Yeah….."

"I'm sorry," Robin murmurs, because what else can she say? Especially when she's still a bit stunned by his revelation.

"So, yes, Robin, I know a little something about love," he says with an unmistakable trace of bitterness in his voice. "I may not practice it any longer, but I know how it works – how it's supposed to anyway. So I get what you're saying about wanting to want it."

Robin studies him carefully in the flickering shadows as she digests this new information. It's a lot to take in. More importantly, it makes her see him in a whole new light.

"I mean, not _me_," Barney sniggers as if the very idea would be hilariously ludicrous. "_I_ don't want that anymore. The love train is no longer something the B-man has _any_ desire to ride."

But nope. Same old Barney. Just a different backstory than the one she imagined. His last statement only serves to solidify everything Robin thought about him and his views towards women and sex. Which isn't surprising. What _is_ surprising is the undeniable feeling of disappointment she experiences afterwards.

"But I understand why _you_ might want it," he grants.

"Maybe…..someday." But she frowns deeply picturing it because the idea still freaks her out. "In the far, _far_ distant future," she amends, making Barney chuckle.

"And that's okay," he reiterates. "Just because you're not ready for that, just because you don't want to jump in headfirst and become one big couple blob after only a few weeks doesn't mean you don't believe in love or that you're 'wired wrong'. It means you need to take your time, need to be sure….and you need to find the right person. But just because you haven't felt that yet and don't want to become Mr. and Mrs. Hansel and Gretel, it does _not_ mean there is one thing wrong with you. _Mike_ is the one who's wired wrong. He's sleeping with a hottie like you and she never even bugs him about cuddling or makes him do lame things on a Saturday morning? That's the dream. And he throws it away because you don't want to eat from his bowl of brownie backwash? Guy's a moron!"

Robin grins at that, and while she's still a bit unsettled from the confusing spike of emotions she just experienced, she's feeling _so_ much better now. "Alright," she announces, standing up. "I'm ready to have some fun. Let's go enjoy this party."

Barney claps. "Now you're talking!"

They step back out of her dressing room and in the increased light, and now no longer burdened by concerns about herself, she's free to really appreciate the way Barney looks in his costume.

Robin always thought the vampire _Twilight_ craze was silly. She never saw the appeal of pale, scrawny blood drinkers. But Barney is one sexy vampire….It's starting to make her rethink the whole fetish as her eyes travel down his lower abs.

She is absolutely in love with the part of his body where his external obliques taper down towards his groin forming a V-shaped ridge of pelvic muscle that she would die to run her tongue along. So when the song overhead emotes that _You're the only one I know who really thrills me so in the midnight hour_, Robin believes it.

It actually frightens her a bit, how badly she wants him, the intense chemistry there.

It frightens her even more that the connection she feels to him is so much deeper than sex alone. She's _glad_ for that, but at the same time afraid for herself when she has this deep of a friendship connection but it's with someone she feels a draw toward, a longing for something more that can never be. They can never have sex for obvious reasons, and certainly not anything romantic; he doesn't believe in even the casual relationships she favors. Sleeping with Barney would ruin their friendship. It's a mistake she simply cannot make, and that's that.

Thankfully, Barney is oblivious to her inner turmoil, only expressing a desire to turn her outfit into a makeshift costume. He eyes her tight black dress, choker, and fishnets, and it comes to him. "Hang on, I've got an idea!"

She follows him along the wall to a door marked "Storage Closet". "Ah-ha! This might have what I'm looking for." He opens up the door and his eyes widen, one eyebrow shooting sky-high before he slowly closes it again. "Okay, I just saw a mermaid giving a ghostbuster head in a broom closet."

"Really?" Robin laughs and pats his arms soothingly. "Just try not to think about it."

"Are you crazy? It was _hot_. Ha-ha, I LOVE this holiday!" He glances down at the small table beside them holding chips, nachos, and egg rolls. "Forget the closet. This will do," he says, grasping the corners of the white tablecloth.

Robin realizes what he's about to do and shouts "NO!", reaching out toward all the bowls she's sure are about to go clattering to the floor. But it's too late. He's already doing it, yanking the tablecloth away without disturbing a single one of the objects that all thud back down perfectly in place.

He smiles smugly. "You have such little faith in me. I'm an excellent magician…..Now come here," he beckons in a low, dangerous tone. Barney pulls her in against him just as the singer announces his intentions to _take you girl and hold you and do all the things I told you_.

Tying the cloth around her waist blindly takes a little time. It would have been easier if he'd turned her around first but it was a purposeful choice doing it front-to-front this way, and he watches her eyes the entire time, smirking naughtily.

When he's finished, Robin pulls back and looks down at herself.

"You're a French maid," he tells her, taking another step back to give her an appreciative ogling. "You wanna come back to my apartment? I've got something you can brush a feather duster over." He winks, clicking his tongue at her.

"You have some weird kinks, Barney."

"Weird? _Please_. I admit I've gotten off on some sexually weird stuff, like a rotating Vietnamese shame wheel – don't ask," he anticipates her. "You're not ready. But enjoying feathers swept over your good parts is pretty universal. It's so conventional they even sell feather ticklers on Amazon!"

"Hey, you don't have to convince me," she counters, taking on his flirtatious tone. "I've told you; I'll try anything once."

He sucks in a breath and pins her with hopeful eyes. "Right now?"

"No, silly," she laughs. "Hypothetically speaking. Not _with_ you." Reaching down, Robin straightens her newly added apron just as another jazzy song comes on. "Alright, so if we're gonna do this full Halloween thing, are you going to dance with me, or what?"

"Gladly," Barney says, instantly taking her in his arms.

The two begin dancing to "Witchcraft", gliding along the floor silently for a while just enjoying it. However, the movement causes Barney's pants to slip down even further until Robin eventually sputters, "What, are you wearing a G-string under there?"

"I'm not wearing anything at all," he brags seductively. Then he opens his mouth in a growl, revealing a remarkably realistic set of fangs before bending to nuzzle at her neck.

"I've got something you can bite," she tells him sarcastically.

He raises his face, giving her a sexy look. "Whatever you're into, baby."

Robin giggles softly and slides her hand up from his shoulder, slipping it beneath the raised collar of his cape. Her eye dance as she plays at the nape of his neck, a few fingers pushing up into his hair.

"When are you going to dress up for real?"

"Why?" she asks teasingly. "Are you gonna be my Hansel?"

"If that does it for you," he says without hesitation.

She laughs and Barney grabs the edges of his cape, wrapping it around the both of them and trapping her inside as they continue to sway together.

Her hands glide down to his chest, coming to rest over her pecs. "I'll make a deal with you: you promise not to sleep with any of my coworkers, and I promise to dress up next year – in the costume of your choosing," she adds to sweeten the deal.

"Done." Barney grins at her mischievously. "But you're gonna live to regret it next year, Scherbatsky, when I make you come dressed as a slutty slut. And, yes, I meant _come_ both ways."

She smirks at him, moving her fingers down to his waist, and as Sinatra croons _When you arouse the need in me, my heart says 'Yes, indeed' in me, 'Proceed with what you're leading me to'_ she traces her thumb over that ridge of muscle that held her so mesmerized earlier. "I'm sorry I messed up your Halloween," she murmurs.

"Are you kidding? I've got a hot girl pressed against me…..and if she moves her hand a few inches south then we can _really_ get this party going." Barney waggles his eyebrows at her.

Robin laughs, shaking her head at him. "You're an idiot," she smiles, and her hands continue to stroke over him beneath his cape.

* * *

**AN**: Yes, Barney's costume in this chapter is Neil's 2012 vampire costume. If you've never seen it, do yourself a favor and google it.


	24. The Naked Man

Two weeks after Halloween, Barney brusquely walks into the bar Metro News 1 employees frequent and, with a loud screech of its legs against the tile floor, promptly drags a chair over to Robin's table.

"_There_ you are!" he exclaims, slumping down into the chair appearing just slightly out of breath. "I've been looking all over town for you."

"You could've texted me," Robin points out.

He gives her a look that's half disappoint and half outrage that she would in any way delegitimize his dramatics.

"Sorry," she smiles. "So what's up?"

"What's up is that I need a bro for my bro-ings on about town. How would you like to be said bro?

"Ooh, as tempting as that sounds, I can't. I'm hanging out with Patrice tonight."

"What? No," Barney frowns.

"Hey, I'd bail if I could; your bro-ings on are nothing if not entertaining. But Patrice and Joe got into this big fight and – "

"She's not even here!"

"She's here somewhere," Robin says, beginning to look around for Patrice, because now that he's mentioned it she _has_ been gone a while on her trip to the bathroom, "and she really needs some support right now….." Her words slowly die out when she locates Patrice near the back of the bar. "Or Joe's tongue down her throat."

Barney looks over and nods. "Nice."

"Apparently they've made up. Alright, guess I'm in," she agrees.

"Great, cause I _really_ need this," he sighs, and there's something different in his voice that makes her believe he legitimately does. "I want the full-on bro experience tonight."

That sparks an idea in Robin. "Okay. Give me fifteen minutes. I need to swing back to the studio to get something, then I'll meet you at the cigar bar."

* * *

Barney's waiting in one of their usual wingback chairs when he spots Robin walk in the cigar bar. One look and his mouth falls open.

She's wearing a black one-button body-hugging ladies pinstripe with a black button front bustier that pushes her boobs up to new heights; he can almost hear them screaming, 'Wooo! I'm coming out to play!'.

"You suited up!" He's so excited, he jumps to his feet.

"Well, you said you wanted the full bro experience. I figured if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do this right."

Grinning, he gestures toward their chairs. "Still the Montecristo No.2?" She nods and he signals to Emilio as they sit down together.

Robin tilts her head at him. "You suited up too."

"I'm always suited up."

"Yes, but you weren't wearing Copernicus before." He has him on now along with a periwinkle blue shirt and matching tie.

"Aw, you remembered his name," Barney coos, and she smiles, rolling her eyes. "As you said, if we're going to do this, I'm going all out." He straightens his tie in his signature move. "A night like this deserves nothing less than Copernicus. He's one of my tried and true, a six year old Brioni Vanquish II made from a blend of some of the rarest fibers on earth. The stitching is all white gold," he informs her, indicating the thread. "This suit is the fourth thing I have in common with James Bond."

She decides to throw him a bone if just for the fun of hearing his response. "The others being….?"

"Dashing good looks, devilish charm, and a way with the ladies, of course."

Emilio arrives then with a round of their usual. Robin takes a hearty sip of her Glen McKenna and sighs in approval. "I love a scotch old enough to order its own scotch."

Barney raises his glass, joining her in another sip before she reaches for the cigar tray, lightening them both up and handing his off. She waits until they're both settled comfortably back into their chairs to raise the question that's been on her mind since they last saw each other. "So what's going on with you, Barney?"

"Who said anything's going on?"

"Well, let's see: you were looking all over town for me, too frazzled to even think to text, and you suddenly have this desperate need to bro around."

He stiffens defensively. "I never said it was a _need_."

Robin leans forward shrewdly. "Your exact words were, and I quote, 'I _really_ need this'."

"Sure, _now_ you're hanging on my every word," Barney grumbles.

"Just tell me what this is about."

"Alright," he gives in, taking a deep breath before beginning. "As you know, James and I were out broing last night…."

"And?"

"And it was awesome! We found this _a-mazing_ new sushi place over on 43rd Street that – "

"_Barney_."

"Okay! _And_," he quits stalling, "I got some news." He waits a beat and then spills it. "James and Tom are engaged."

While Robin has yet to meet James let alone Tom, from the way Barney has talked about his partner who's essentially his brother, she feels as if she knows him too. "Wow, I didn't realize they were that serious."

"Neither did I. I mean, I knew they were committed, and it _has_ been three months for them now. But…_marriage_?" Barney shakes his head in disbelief.

"I know," Robin nods.

"I never would have thought it. Not so soon anyway. Especially with a guy like James."

"Hmm, well now it makes sense why you wanted a night out so badly." She feels for Barney; this has got to be killing him. "Alright, we're going to make tonight just as legendary as you wanted. How about after this we hit up laser tag?"

"A little one-on-one?" Barney says hopefully.

"Sure. Or, if any brats are around, we defend our title in a fight to the death!"

* * *

Once at laser tag, Robin and Barney change into the clothes they keep in his locker and are ready and amped to play. However, they soon discover it won't be simple fun and games tonight.

Jacob and Ethan haven't recovered from the embarrassing losses Stinson's Way Awesome Team dealt them in front of their friends – including the three other times Team Stinson smoked them after that initial victory. The boys have spent weeks training and growing stronger and better at the game, just waiting night after night hoping for Barney and Robin's reappearance. Now that they have them here they're out for some serious revenge – and they've got an entire army of tweens along with them.

Still, even with all the kids ganged up against them, SWAT gives them a good run for their money, cutting their numbers in half within the first fifteen minutes of the game. Dashing through the tunnel Barney once tripped in from staring too hard at Robin's ass, they scurry to the left of the yellow barrels, taking cover on the ground behind a set of road barriers.

Barney nudges Robin and gives her some hand signals, by now their practiced code. She nods, ready to execute their plan of attack. But the second they run out they're immediately shot at.

"Ambush! Ambush! Ambush!" he yells in warning, ducking them back down behind the barriers.

All the remaining kids are waiting at the end of the tunnel and now have them cornered in this room. It's a dead-end, a well-executed trap.

"These brats have us completely surrounded!" Robin assesses.

Barney peeks above the protective barrier. "I counted nine, maybe ten."

"Okay, it's okay," she whispers, coming up with a plan. "I'll lay down some cover fire; you make a run for it."

"_No_," Barney insists, and without thinking he puts his hand on her leg to emphasis his point. A sexually charged moment follows as they both realize his fingers are curled around her inner thigh. Everything stops until he moves his hand back away so they both can concentrate. "Leave no man behind," he holds firm. "Either we all get out of here or no one does."

"But I – "

"Don't be a hero, Scherbatsky," he says dramatically, edging closer for a 'final goodbye'.

He sets his forehead to hers and their lips are so close it would hardly take any movement at all to be kissing right now. But she doesn't touch her mouth to his. Instead, Robin breathes "See you on the other side", mimicking his same melodramatic tone.

Grinning, they nod to each other and jump over the barrier in full-on action hero mode – and are promptly hit about a dozen times the second they land back on the ground, well before either can get a single shot off.

"Damn!" Barney laments. But for all their earlier dramatics where you'd think their very lives depended on the outcome of this battle, he easily shakes off the defeat. "Want to go get a soft pretzel?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

At the food court over a giant soft pretzel and shared root beer, Robin has to ask. "About this thing with James, I know you're one of these people who's an expert at pretending you're fine when you're not – "

"Takes one to know one."

"Maybe," she allows. "But neither one of us is _that_ much of an expert. So what gives?"

"'What gives'?" Barney echoes in mocking amusement. "Is that how Canadian gangsters talk? If there even is such a thing as a Canadian gangster."

She gives him a deadpan look, refusing to take the bait. "I'm also an expert in deflection, so quit stalling. The man who's basically your brother tells you he's getting married – an institution you despise. Why aren't you trying to fight it, or at the very least acting more upset than you are? Which isn't very upset at all, honesty."

"I never said I despise the institution of marriage." Robin sputters and is about to protest so he clarifies, "It's obviously not for _me_. But I'm not against marriage per se for others – provided the man's at least thirty."

"_But_," she says leadingly, mimicking what he did with her on Halloween. Barney still doesn't say anything so she snatches their root beer, stealing it over to her side of the table. "No more for you till you come out with it." Still nothing. "Oh, come on, Barney. I know you're not completely happy about it; I can tell."

Barney sighs. "I _am_ happy. James seems to really love Tom and they make each other happy, so I'm happy for him. I _want_ to see him happy…..But first it's James, and then it's only a matter of time before my other friend gets married. He's about to pop the question; he's already bought the ring. Once that happens, it'll just be me and my one other bro who are still single – and he's the kind of guy who will marry the first chick who's willing just to be doing what all his friends are doing."

"This is the same friend you told me about who thinks 'you just feel out of heaven' is the greatest pickup line of all time?" Robin wonders, and he nods in confirmation. "By any chance is this the same guy who awaits the Slutty Pumpkin each year?"

"Mm-hmm, and all of this is sure to make him obsessed with marriage and getting a wife. And then he won't even be able to drink. Because he'll be pregnant. Cause he's the girl."

"Come on, he can't be pregnant." She waits a beat during which Barney has a vague look of disappointment that she either doesn't get or just isn't going along with his joke. "You need to have sex to get pregnant," Robin gives the punchline with a cheeky smile playing at her lips.

"_What_ up!" Barney laughs, his expression melting into awed delight. "Freeze frame high five!" he proclaims.

They lean forward with mouths open in glee as their palms meet in the middle high overhead and they freeze that way, holding it for several long seconds trying not to laugh. Robin is the one to break first, falling back against her chair giggling happily, making Barney chuckle along with her.

"But no, I'm not going to try to stop it," he tells her after a bit. "I mean, I don't _understand_ it. Marriage is prison. It's the death of your sex life. But if they want to voluntarily incarcerate themselves, that's on them."

He pauses and she can sense there's something more; he's just debating whether or not to say it. Ultimately, he must feel their friendship is close enough, because he comes out with, "I'm just a little wary of the changes it will bring. This is an end of an era."

"Yeah….." She lets it faintly trail off, experiencing the bittersweetness along with him. "I feel the same way about marriage as you do, but I've never tried to talk anyone out of it either. That kind of lifestyle is fine for them if that's what they want; it's just not for me. But I know what you mean about the end of an era." She gets where he's coming from all too well after what happened with Jessica. "It's hard when all your friends start getting married. They act like it's some cult they want you to join."

"Or they never have time for you anymore," he adds, unknowingly hitting painfully close to home. "….always off with the old ball and chain, can't bro out anymore – and soon they'll be changing poopy diapers and wiping up baby vomit 24/7."

Robin gives a look of disgust. "Eck, who needs that?"

"Right?!" Barney grins. "We're so much alike, you and I."

"Yes. We are," she smiles, because it's true and also a rather sweet thing to say considering how high in awesomeness he holds himself – a point that's reiterated ten seconds later when he cockily adds, "Meeting me was the best thing that's ever happened to you."

She narrows her eyes. "I don't know about all that. But meeting _me_ may end up being the best thing that's ever happened to _you_. Because this bro's not going anywhere, I can promise you that. I'm never getting married, so you'll always have me."

Robin finishes off their root beer with a slurping of the straw. "Okay, enough feelings talk," she shudders. "Back to broing about town. Any truly legendary night must include a stop at MacLaren's, right?"

Barney does a quick tabulation: Marshall and Lily went to visit his parents since they won't be able to make it to Minnesota for Thanksgiving, and Ted's on a date with some girl he met at his architecture firm – finally learning a thing or two from Barney's teachings – which means MacLaren's is theirs for the night. "Hell yeah, it must," he agrees.

"That's what I thought you'd say," Robin grins. "Alright then, let's hit up your locker, get back into our street clothes, and finish painting the town!"

* * *

The two are standing leaning against MacLaren's bar when their drinks are delivered, and Robin takes her eagerly. It's been several hours since the cigar bar and it's far past five o'clock.

"It'll be good to finally have something hard again." Barney opens his mouth to make a joke but she anticipates him. "Stop. You know I meant alcoholic."

"But it's _right_ there. Can't I just – "

"If you go for the easy erection joke then _I'm_ going to have to point out the lack of hardness is despite hanging out with you all night."

"Fine," Barney pouts, because no one disparages his manhood – and he knows it's something she would _not_ let go of once she got started. "I could have snuck us in some Kahlua if I'd known we were going to laser tag tonight."

"No offense to the Slutty Pumpkin but that Tootsie Roll drink sounds disgust anyway."

"Well, it can't beat a good scotch, that's for sure."

"I'll drink to that," she agrees, and they both do to Robin's contented hum. "Even though we lost, playing laser tag was a blast. It always takes me back. But do you know what game I really miss? Battleship."

"Ahh, Battleship. I dig the ruthlessness of just blowing crap up: multimillion dollar ships, your buddy and all his men. I mean you just know those battleships are full of navy dudes. It seems like something you'd get off on, Scherbatsky." He gives a dirty little cackle when she doesn't deny it.

"I've never lost a game," she proudly brags.

"Neither have I," he announces, pleased to have found yet another similarity. "Of course I cheat."

"Oh yeah, me too. The trick is to bend the aircraft carrier so it makes an L."

"Ah," he nods at her cleverness. "I always just stacked the ships on top of each other."

"Nice….You know, we should have a cheaters grudge match. I think I still have a – " Robin cuts off as she notices Barney eyeing some girl across the bar.

Seeing it, she's hit with that same immediate, bitter spike of jealousy she felt when they last ran plays together, or a couple nights ago when he told her all about the 7 from legal he bedded that afternoon in his office. But she will never, ever under any circumstances let him know that. And besides, she already resolved that she simply _cannot_ feel that way, end of discussion, so that must not be what it was anyway.

"Ooh, how 'bout her?" she suggests, against her every impulse, broing him out in true wingwoman style.

She encourages him to try his luck with the busty blonde but once Barney's across the room Robin sits down at the bar with her back to that whole situation, even averting her eyes from the bar mirror so as not to accidentally catch a glimpse of what's going on behind her. She doesn't let herself examine the fact that she can't stand to watch. She's just going to finish her drink and then leave.

Ten minutes later, she slides off the bar stool and is just pulling some money out of her purse to settle her tab and head out when she feels a tap on her shoulder. "Hey."

She turns to find Barney, who she really hadn't expected to see again for the rest of the night. "Hey," she answers back with clear questioning in her tone.

"Let's get out of here." He motions his head toward the door. "Let's go somewhere else."

"Well, what happened? She looked like a shoo-in."

Barney shrugs dismissively. "Eh, you know, I sometimes like to do a little catch and release." He passes it off with a smug little straightening of his tie.

"But why?" Robin presses him suspiciously.

By now, it's clear to Barney that she's not going to leave with him without a better explanation than that. "Leave no man behind," he decides. "Either we all score or no one scores." And he raises his glass to her.

"Right on." Robin smiles, one he easily returns. "Hey, I've got an idea. You want to come back to my place and play Battleship?"

"Hit!" he says, eagerly draining his glass and slapping it down on the bar in a rush to hold the door open for her.

* * *

In Brooklyn, Barney is beyond excited that Robin invited him upstairs with her. He can read the signs loud and clear. They've been dancing around it since they met, but in the past month first she gave in and came up to his place and now they're about to be all alone in hers at well after midnight.

Robin fishes her keys out of her coat pocket, chatting fondly about the events of the night and how much she can't wait to play Battleship with him, which excites Barney all the more; her desire to get right to it is perfectly in line with his.

She opens the door, giving Barney his first look at her apartment, and it's colorful and eclectic just like its owner. The soft yellow walls with white wainscoting are like liquid sunshine, and they're lined with even more colors from the several paintings and sketches hung throughout. She has a pretty little lamp on the end table left lit for her dogs. A further look around reveals Robin left another on for them in front of the window as well as beside the couch; she obviously loves her dogs a great deal.

Her apartment has a nice layout: a sizable fireplace straight ahead with a beautiful wood mantle, though he's guessing it's no longer operation based on the three pillar candles inside; to their right, a large picture window with red curtains; to the left of the fireplace the kitchen; and just beside the window a hallway that must lead to the bedroom and bath. In the middle of the room is her sitting area: grey couch with burnt orange quilted throw over the top, along with several decorative pillows; a couple of chairs on either end of the sofa; and a large red throw rug to match her curtains sits beneath the coffee table and TV stand, with various dog toys sprinkled about on the floor. All in all, Robin's place has a very warm and homey feel.

Robin's Dalmatian is lounging in the sage green chair nearest to the door, her mastiff is on the couch, and her Portuguese Podengo is lying on the rug by the TV. The Chihuahua and terrier are nowhere in sight, but when they walk into the apartment the other dogs barely blink an eye at his presence – no barking, sniffing, nothing. He wonders if that means they like him or if they're just used to having men around. Either way, he doesn't let it bother him at the moment because tonight is just for the two of them and _nothing_ is going to put a damper on that.

"You know, Barney," Robin tells him as he takes off his coat and begins unbuttoning his suit jacket, "I had a really good time bro-ing out tonight."

"Well, you make a great bro. Hey, in fact, you have just earned yourself an invite to James's bachelor party." He makes himself right at home, taking Robin's jacket from her and hanging both their coats up on the hook beside her door. "And you don't even have to come out of the cake," he quips.

"Thanks, but that's not saying much since his crowd really wouldn't appreciate it anyway."

She inwardly deliberates over whether she should say anything about what happened at MacLaren's or just let it go. "But, um, thanks for sticking around tonight." She's sincerely happy he decided to stay with her rather than go home with the blonde, but she doesn't want to seem too eagerly pleased about it. Clearing her throat, Robin tucks her hair behind her ear, trying not to appear anxious. "Now, I hope you're ready for some hardcore Battleship," she says teasingly. "Come on, boys."

She pats her leg to call her three remaining dogs back into the bedroom with the others so they can have the living room all to themselves, and Barney watches her go; more specifically, he keenly watches the curve of her behind in those tight pants as she walks away. He can't believe he's finally going to have her. He's been waiting for this night for the past ten weeks and has imagined in great, thorough, _exhaustive_ detail all the things he wants to do to her.

"Hardcore?" he repeats to himself lustfully as he begins unbuckling his belt. "That's the only way I play."

While Robin's getting the dogs settled and making herself 'more comfortable', Barney does the same, stripping down in record time and meticulously laying his clothes over the sage chair to avoid wrinkling for when he has to put them back on tomorrow morning.

He's down to just his dark navy boxer briefs and socks when Robin walks back in the room.

"I found it," she says, turning over the box and hoping it still has all the parts. "Are you ready to – " The rest of the sentence dies off in her throat when she sees Barney is nearly naked. "What – what are you doing?"

Barney gestures down at himself as if the answer should be obvious. "I'm birthday suiting up." But she continues to look shocked so he asks, all cocky charm, "Oh I'm sorry, did _you_ want to undress me?"

"To be clear, this isnot what I meant by a little one-on-one. I – I thought we were just hanging out as friends."

"Oh, come on. You invited me up to your apartment to 'play Battleship'," he relays the phrase in air quotes. "Is that not an internationally recognized term for sex?"

"_No_, it isn't," she emphatically retorts.

And it's only in this moment that Barney realizes she's not just playing coy but there has in fact been a serious misinterpretation here and Robin really and truly wasn't planning to sleep with him tonight.

He immediately feels stupid, rebuffed, standing here like an idiot in his underwear in her living room where she clearly thought they were just going to be playing a board game together. He resorts to brash humor to lessen the disappointment and embarrassment of it. "Great. I hope you're happy. You sunk my battleship."

Robin sighs, looking peeved and a bit hurt. "This was really your big play, Barney? Get naked, and you think I'm desperate enough to have sex with you just like that? Is this because of what I told you on Halloween?" she accuses.

That throws him, the fact that she believes he'd prey on her, use her vulnerability just to get into her pants. Sure, judging by everything she knows about him it would be a fair assumption with any other woman, but not with _her_, and it truly bothers him that she could think otherwise. "No. That's not what this is, Robin. Not at all. It's…." He blows out a heavy breath, sweeping a hand through his hair in agitation. "…it's just this trick I have, okay."

The way he's not quite meeting her eye, uncomfortable and self-conscious about this misunderstanding, lets her know it's the truth.

"I learned it from a one-nighter who picked it up from some dude she slept with. You just get naked and the other person comes back and thinks it's so funny and is so charmed by it that one thing leads to another until you're having sex."

"That…is…." Robin wants to say 'insane', but now that she knows he wasn't trying to use what she'd confided to his advantage she already needs to fight the impulse to let her eyes wander. If things weren't what they are between them, she'd likely be reacting very differently to Barney right now – and it probably _would_ end in sex, honestly. "….That's actually kind of useful – _if_ you don't get maced first."

"Hasn't happened yet," he boasts. ""The Naked Man" works two out of three times. You just have to decide how you're going to display yours. You came back into the room before I could choose. I was thinking about going with The Superman: hands at your hips and a big grin," Barney explains.

She doesn't say anything, just looks at him shell-shocked, so he hurries on. "But I _am_ sorry if I offended you. I really wasn't trying to take advantage of you. I wouldn't do that. Not with a friend. Not with _you_. It's just that I…I'm – " He cuts off because she's just watching him intently and he doesn't trust his read of their situation anymore after how badly he's already gotten it wrong tonight.

Robin _is_ staring, only half hearing what he's saying at this point, but it's because Barney still hasn't redressed. He's only wearing those well-fitted boxer briefs, and though she shouldn't – it betrays all of her feminism – despite his impertinence, she really, _really_ wants him. And, hey, maybe that's the mark of true feminism, being just as open and progressive about her sexual needs and desires as a man would be.

When he sees that spark in Robin's eyes, it finally hits Barney that she's not staring because she's offended. She's staring because she likes what she sees. "Robin." He takes a few cautious steps toward her. "I think this has been driving us both crazy. Are we close enough friends now? Can we get to the benefits?"

"You and me? Barney, that's insane." But her assertion is severely undermined by the way she's ogling his body. "If you even thought about it for one second – "

"But I _have_ thought about it, for three seconds – " Which is his way of saying it's _all_ he's thought about. " – and it makes a lot of sense. We both think the marriage commitment thing's a drag, we both want something casual and fun, and we clearly get along really well."

Surprisingly, not a single one of his arguments was 'Because it would feel fantastic to bone you' – although, to tell the truth, right now she finds that motive incredibly compelling all by itself. But instead he's listed all the reasons they go together well in a very rational, thought-out way that suggests this is more than just a hasty grab for sex. And, strikingly, his points are all quite sound. "Wow. That actually does make a lot of sense."

Barney moves in closer still. "We were all over each other on Halloween." His voice dips low. "Don't tell me you haven't ever thought about it, Scherbatsky."

"….I have," she softly admits. "I _almost_ kissed you."

"On Halloween?"

She shakes her head. "No, the first time we played laser tag."

"Really?" He remembers back to that day, how he was staring at her ass so hard he tripped into her, how she didn't move her hands off him right away. He sensed they were having a little moment – at least _he_ was – until the kids interrupted and spoiled it, but he had no idea she was seriously contemplating actually starting something. "In the tunnel?"

"Mm-hmm. We were just starting to know each other then. I thought maybe if we kissed a little I could get it out of my system."

He holds her gaze with a look that's part lust and part open affection and it sends a buzz through her that shorts out her resistance. "We never would have stopped at just kissing," he rejoins, a deep seductive promise.

"Barney," she whispers breathlessly, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to."

A slow smile catches on his lips. "_Thank god_." And he holds her gaze, his expression warm and sensual as he reaches for her.

"But – " She steps away. " – I don't want to ruin what we have now."

"Neither do I. Robin, if we slept together it wouldn't have to change things."

"But it _would_. As much as I'm into the casual, you know I'm not a sharer. I don't even share food." She pauses as she realizes that's not entirely true. "With anyone but you." That brings the smile back to his lips. "The point is I'm never going to be cool with the idea of a guy having a nooner with some random woman and then expecting to be let into my bed that night."

It only takes him a split second to respond. "What if I said I wouldn't do that?"

"What?" she retorts skeptically.

Barney closes the distance between them again, looking her in the eye. "What if as long as I'm sleeping with you I wouldn't sleep with anyone else?"

Robin considers that a moment, surprised that he's offering an exclusive arrangement. The truth is it's incredibly tempting. "Could you even do that, though?"

"I did with Shannon."

She'd almost forgotten about that and for a second it gives her hope, until she recognizes the situations are entirely different. "But that was a long time ago." He may not be capable of that kind of exclusivity in the here and now. Especially when they're not even together. "And it was different," she rationalizes. "You could stay faithful because she was your girlfriend. You were in a relationship and you had real feelings for each other." She watches him carefully, telling herself this isn't fishing. Nope, not at all; she's just mildly curiously. But even _she_ doesn't believe that. "That's not what's happening here….is it?"

His first instinct is to scream, 'Of course not! I've never seen this woman before in my life!' and take off running out the door. His second instinct tells him Robin is his bro – by now, about _his_ best bro – and she deserves a better reaction than that. And underneath it all his subconscious quietly gives the most honest answer of them all: maybe.

Barney decides to go with something middle of the road, though he knows deep down that it's a lie. "No, we're just friends."

She didn't expect him to answer any other way. Nevertheless, Robin feels a slight sting hearing that. "Right. We're friends," she quietly echoes.

He shakes his head, not yet ready to let it go at that. "But still, what if I said I'd be willing to do that? I'm serious. Bros before hos; I wouldn't go back on it."

She bites her lip, seriously considering it. She must be insane, she chastises herself. But when Barney curls a hand around her waist drawing her near, she doesn't stop him. Somehow her fingers find his bare chest, and it would be so easy to let things happen from here: give over to it, let him kiss her, let him lead her to the couch, get lost in feeling as they burn off some of this tension that's coiled between her legs, throbbing and insistent. It would be so easy. It would feel _so_ good.

But she knows what would happen the very moment all of the feeling good was over. The second that last orgasmic contraction subsided signaling the time they usually get dressed and go home, nothing would be the same between them ever again.

And she can't let that happen.

Robin gently pushes off his chest, breaking out of his arms. "Even if you could keep it in your pants for just a friends-with-benefits arrangement, the minute we had sex it would change everything," she reasons. "I'd go from being your ridiculously awesome bro Robin to the vagina you nailed last night." She smirks to herself. "And hope to nail again tonight."

Barney tilts his head at her, amused. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

"I mean…." She gestures down her body that looks so hot and bangable in her bustier and tight pants; he can only imagine what she looks like out of them. "Trust me; you'd want to."

"No arguments here," he readily agrees, but makes no move to reach for her again.

"Look, it just, it would be a bad idea," she maintains. "You know I'm right. We're friends, bros, and I _like_ having you in my life. We can't risk messing that up because it's late and we're horny and we might be a little hot for each other."

"_Might_ be?" he says with a cynically raised eyebrow, because that's clearly the understatement of the century.

Smiling, she runs her head down his bicep to his forearm. "As much as I love sex, I love having you as my friend more."

Even though she's denying Lil' Barney, that sentiment from her makes him feel sort of warm and melty inside in a way that has nothing to do with sex. And, to his surprise, he finds it's a sentiment he wholly shares with her. "I suppose when you put it that way….." he capitulates with an affectionate smile.

Something about the look on his face – all soft and sincere, even bordering on tender – makes Robin's heart turn over, and suddenly she finds herself impulsively giving him a hug.

She feels him laugh a little against her as he returns the entirely non-sexual embrace. It may be a first for him, Barney realizes.

When they pull back, Robin tells him, "You don't have to go. You can put your clothes back on…" She said it teasingly, but to preserve the sanctity of their friendship, and the Bro Code, and prevent banging each other's brains out she really does need him to do that ASAP. "…and we could play Battleship for real."

Barney's mouth pulls into a frown at her playful mocking. "Alright, you have to promise _never_ to tell anyone I went bare pickle in front of you – or that you turned me down." Her eyes sparkle with mischief and he reminds her warningly, "It's in the Bro Code."

"Fine." She mimics zipping her lips. "I won't ever tell. Now let's get this cheaters grudge match going."

He sits on the couch, she pulls up a nearby stool, and they set up their boards on the coffee table.

As the guest, she lets him go first. "A-7," Barney calls.

"Miss."

"Of course it is."

"D-4," Robin tries.

He shakes his head. "Miss. I have a feeling this is gonna be a long night…."


	25. Penis Feelings

They play Battleship for over an hour during which no one wins but they turn it into a drinking game so they don't really care.

Eventually Barney takes a cab home, and at 3:12 a.m. when he's just climbing into bed he gets a call from Robin.

"I saw you were busy after you got home," she drawls flirtatiously.

And he is _all_ on board; Lil' Barney twitched to life at just her tone. "I was not," he refutes with an equally flirtatious quality to his voice. "You denied me that chance, remember? But if you changed your mind…."

"I meant your new blog entry."

"Why, Scherbatsky, I didn't know you read my blog at three in the morning. Next time I'll throw in some porn for you."

"What I read was eye-catching enough."

"Well, I'm glad I could help out." She makes a soft little sound that Barney takes for a half-laugh, and he smiles. "You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?"

"I was talking about your brocabulary lesson. And I quote – "

"Are you still reading it right now?" Barney interrupts before she has a chance to begin her mocking recitation. He tsks his tongue. "You _are_ obsessed with me."

Robin ignores that, going on with the passage. "'Since the dawn of mankind, when dudes would hunt mammoth just to get away from the cave for a few hours' – "

" – 'bros have been hanging out in chick-free but totally awesome ways that are completely platonic and not gay at all. It's called 'bro-ing out' and it's akin to a girls' night out," he finishes for her, narrating the passage he just wrote only ten minutes ago.

"Yeah, and about that," Robin says, getting sidetracked. "'Practice kissing and feeling each other's boobs'? That's what you think women do on girls' night out?"

"_Don't_ you?"

"You're in idiot," she replies with humor in her voice. "_Why_ would we do that?

"Because it's in all porn. Don't ruin the fantasy for me, okay Robin?"

"Fine, that's not what I called about anyway. It was your Encyclopedia Brotannica: Barney's Guide to Bronunciation."

"Ah," he nods sagely, always happy to discuss his insights and expertise. "Which part interested you? Did you learn some key new phrases? It could help my future writing to know how I'm impacting my audience."

"Sure thing, Broda," Robin teases. "It was this passage: 'Oh, interesting fact: The bro who accompanied me on my personal broings on about town this weekend? Actually a chick. A smoking hot chick. Unorthodox, but surprisingly enjoyable.'"

"Yes, and it's true. What's the problem?"

"This next part: 'And yes, I totally broned her.' Really, Barney? Is _that_ what happened? Cause if it is I've gotta say, your skills have been vastly exaggerated. I didn't even feel it."

"Alright, so I may have embellished a little," he relents. "But, again, it wasn't exactly my proudest moment when I went bare pickle and you didn't even let your kitty out to play."

"Is it a rule that after 2 a.m. you can't stop being gross? Besides," she adds coyly, "that wasn't exactly _bare_ pickle. The pickle was still in the jar, so to speak."

"You're welcome to reach in and grab it out anytime you like."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"In all your reading, did you happen to see that I also invented a name for you?" he questions proudly. "A bromosexual. It's a bro who's also a chick, and therefore bang-able. Congratulations, Scherbatsky, you're the first of your kind."

"I did see that."

Her voice is all lazily playful, soft, and low. It sounds very much to him like maybe she's turned on right now by all their flirting; the thought certainly makes him so. "Where are you?"

"In bed."

He couldn't have hoped for a more perfect response. "Tell me more….Better yet, let's Skype so I can see you. Are you wearing a little teddy or maybe a – "

"See ya, Barney."

"But – "

"Nope. I really have something to do." In a sultry tone, she reveals, "I'm gonna play a little 'Battleship' alone before I go to sleep."

"No, don't – Wait, does that mean what I think it does?" he asks thickly. "Because then we _definitely_ have to Skype so I can play some too. I say it's allowed when it's over the phone."

"Good night, Barney," Robin tells him with a sexy little laugh.

* * *

That afternoon, Barney has Sunday brunch with his mom and James, who also brought Tom along as a sort of 'welcome to the family'. When the meal is through, James and Barney volunteer to take over kitchen cleanup to let Loretta take it easy in the living room and give her and Tom a chance to get to know each other even better.

While James is washing the dishes in the sink, Barney is supposed to be scraping the dirty ones into the trash and stacking them on the kitchen island, but he's more or less just whining to James about his situation with Robin and only occasionally poking at the dirty pile when it seems like James is canvasing to see if he's getting any work done.

"Ugh! I'm getting desperate here. I want to get her into bed so badly," Barney laments. "It doesn't even have to be a bed. I just want to get into _her_. I woke up this morning hard as a rock, shooting my load in my sleep just dreaming about being with her. That hasn't happened since I was a teenager! It's not like I'm not getting other women. But Lil' Barney wants _her_!" he whines.

James can't help laughing at his little brother. "So sleep with her then. Or is the problem she still won't let you have it?"

With some degree of embarrassment, Barney relays how Robin turned him down last night despite his giving her genuine reasons why he thinks the two of them entering into a physical relationship makes sense. "Now I know there's no budging her on this – but try explaining that to the barnana! All he wants is to make a Robin creampie."

"Dude, TMI," James cringes. "But come on, I know you. You can talk a woman into anything."

"Maybe not this one," Barney concedes. "And the other thing is….I'm afraid she might be right. As much as I want to sleep with her – and I really, really, _really_ do; like SO bad, you can't even imagine – "

"Yeah, Barney, I got it. Go on."

"As much as I want her, I'm not sure that we _could_ actually do friends with benefits," he admits. "I've never stayed in contact with a woman I'm sleeping with. I mean, I've never even slept with the same woman more than three times – and that was stretched out over a year and a half. I keep telling her that if we sleep together it won't change things, but I honestly don't know if it would or not."

Barney clears his throat nervously, picking up a dirty fork and absently running its tines through some runny egg yolk left over on a plate. "And I don't want to lose her."

He tried to cover it with a cough, but it didn't work since he said the whole sentence _after_ the cough.

"You know, my _bro_," Barney prattles on anxiously. "I don't want to lose a good _bro_. Especially one with the female perspective, cause even though Robin's way more awesome than any other woman on this planet she still has some familiarity with how the lesser of her gender thinks."

He looks up from fiddling with the dirty dish to see that James is studying him, but "_Ah_" is all the older man says. That's all he needs to say, however. Barney can read loud and clear what he means. "Don't 'ah' me."

"Too late, I already did. So what you're saying, mon frère blanc, is that the _real_ problem is you like this girl. You're sweet on her," James asserts definitively. He's not about to pass up the opportunity to rib on him after all the heat he took for falling for Tom. "_Barney Stinson likes a girl_!"

The fork slips from Barney's hand and falls with a clatter onto the top of Loretta's good china. "No, I don't! Shut up!" And his cheeks have gone a slight rosy shade.

"Oh wow," James observes. "This is even more than I thought. You have some _serious_ feelings for her."

"Psh, yeah," Barney tries to blow it off, "_penis_ feelings. Lots and lots of penis feelings."

"You're falling for her hard, aren't you? Oh, this is going to be so much fun to watch!"

"Shut up. There's nothing to see. You don't know what you're talking about," Barney insists, and it goes on like this the whole rest of the time they're in the kitchen.

* * *

The next day after Ted picks up Marshall and Lily from the airport, all four of them hangout for a low-key night at the apartment since Marshall claims he's exhausted from baskiceball and still being "on Minnesota time", which is stupid as there's only an hour difference. But no matter, Barney uses the opportunity of them all gathered on home turf to break the news about James.

"Oh my god, Barney," Ted gasps. "Are you suicidal?"

"I'm surprised you didn't call us in St. Cloud and insist we fly home immediately to be with you in your hour of need," Marshall jumps in.

"Alright, yes, very funny," Barney nods long-sufferingly.

Marshall blinks at him. "What are you talking about? I'm dead serious."

"Guys, come on, leave him alone," Lily orders as she walks over to sit on the arm of the couch beside Barney. Setting her hand to his shoulder, she asks him comfortingly, "How are you really handling this?"

"It's fine. Not a big deal." They all look at him incredulously so he grants, "It was a bit weird at first, but Tom's cool if you're gonna swing that way." Barney shrugs. "Bottom line, it doesn't really affect me."

"Not to bum you out but, uh, yes, it does," Lily opposes. "James getting married is going to have a profound effect on you." She gives him one of those maternal Aldrin glances. "And I think you know it too. That's why you're acting all macho and impervious to it."

Barney scoffs. "I'm not _acting_ anything, Lily."

"You guys grew up together like brothers. You work together and still see each other like every day."

"And he's the one you bro out with when Ted's too lazy to leave the apartment," Marshall puts in.

"Hey, it's not that I'm lazy," Ted defends. "I just might get caught up in the latest biography, or an Architecture Vision Weekly, or the new episode of _Woodworthy Manor_."

"Same thing," Barney cracks, and Marshall gives him a high five.

"They've got a point, though," Ted accuses, now having a dog in the fight and going into serious Mosby Boys mode. "Why aren't you trying to change James's mind?"

"Yeah," Marshall endorses, "why _aren't_ you trying to stop it?"

Despite an instinct to take up for Barney, Lily has to agree. "This does seem like the time when you'd be paying off a gigolo, or planting a condom, or doing _something_ to break them up."

Ted nods vigorously. "And when that doesn't work forcing me to go on crazy, dangerous, and possibly illegal exploits with you – or at least bang a bunch of girls in college."

"Okay, first of all, Ted," Barney rails, "I don't need you to do any of those things. Secondly, what makes you think I _haven't_ banged a bunch of college chicks?"

"He has kind of been below the radar lately," Lily acknowledges. "Always taking off or busy somewhere. A sorority skank binge _would_ explain it."

Barney appears offended at that. "I'll have you know I stay away from the sorority set."

"Since when?" Lily laughs unbelievingly.

His eyes skirt away. "Since the Mrs. Stinsfire thing went south during the monthly breast exam."

"Well, what did you think was going to happen, Barney, when you were massaging a room full of topless girls?" Marshall smirks.

"I thought the pleating on my dress would cover it," Barney says sheepishly. "And it _would_ have if Tiffany hadn't leaned in so close."

"Yeah," Lily snickers. "Nothing like being nudged by a massive erection to give it away that your den mother is not a kindly old lady."

"It _was_ massive too." Barney winks at her and she shoves him.

"So if you haven't been on a college girl bender then what's up with all these weird disappearances?" Ted questions, never letting go of the mystery.

"And what's got you so distracted that you don't mind James getting engaged?" Lily wonders. "It has to be some kind of endorphin releasing activity to keep him this mellow about it," she brainstorms with Ted.

"Are you in a fight club or something?" Ted speculates.

"Ted," Marshall dismisses, "I've had some fights in my time and, trust me; Barney has _never_ been in one. It would wrinkle his suits and ruin that pretty boy face of his. Not to mention he'd never make it out of a fight club alive," he deadpans.

"Ooh, maybe it's a _sex_ club!" Lily suggests excitedly. Her eyes go wide and she hums to herself in exhilaration. "And with Barney you just know it's one that's into some _crazy_ stuff. Maybe a tandem round of Cave Canem, a train of slyder2me, a little facesitting, some upside down pretzel machine, topping it off with a bit of double p ending in a pearl necklace and a – "

"Geez, Aldrin, what is with you? Marshall, haven't you been giving your woman any?"

Marshall picks at a thread on his jeans self-consciously. "This case has kept me really busy, and then we were staying at my parents. I haven't had time. But I'm – "

"There is _always_ time to get laid," Barney interjects.

" – planning a big night for us," Marshall finishes at the same time.

A beat goes by and then Lily turns back to Barney eagerly. "Tell me about this sex club. Do they have whips?"

"Whips?" Barney laughs. "You think that's 'some _crazy_ stuff'?"

"Guys, guys," Marshall stops this once and for all. "Your debate is pointless because I know where Barney's been." They all look to him curiously, Barney with perhaps a small twinge of fear. "He's doing community service," Marshall reveals.

"Come on, Eriksen! No fair!" Barney pouts petulantly like he's been caught; better to throw them off his tracks, he reasons. "That's got to be some kind of lawyer-client confidentiality violation."

"Hey, it's all public record now."

"So I guess that's it then," Ted declares portentously. "Barney's been doing his pee pee time – "

"Not the kind he'd prefer," Marshall quips.

"And another Mosby Boys case has been successfully solved."

"Wait, you didn't solve a damn thing. _I'm_ the one who solved it," Marshall contends.

They affably bicker for the next twenty minutes and forget all about Barney's odd behavior – all of them except for Lily, who still isn't sure it quite adds up.

* * *

By Wednesday morning when James gets into the back of the town car to head into GNB with his partner, the first thing out of his mouth is: "So this Robin situation is really escalating out of control, huh?"

Barney turns to him with a confused look. "What do you mean? We've been texting but we're both busy with work. I haven't seen her since the night of no sex."

James can't resist a crack. "Isn't that every night with you two?"

"That's not funny."

"_I_ think it is. You know what else is funny? The fact that Marshall, Lily, and Ted don't know a thing about her."

As James suspected it would, that gets Barney acting cagy. It's not anything a layperson would be able to recognize, but James knows him like he knows himself so it's something he can easily pinpoint.

"What makes you say that?" Barney finally replies.

It's a safe non-answer and his brother is well aware that he's very clearly digging to see how much he knows. "I got a call last night," James reveals.

Barney makes an audible sound of frustration. "What is it with these people? What do they want, for me to lock you in a room until you agree to sleep around forever?"

"_Lily_ called me asking if I knew why you weren't freaking out about my engagement."

"For such a tiny thing she's sure got the biggest nose in everyone's business," Barney grumbles, shaking his head. "And what did you say to her?"

"I told her not to worry about it because clearly you've changed and matured and come to see the beauty of serious committed relationships." When Barney's eyebrows furrow in bafflement James shots him an expression that plainly reads 'Get your head out of your ass'. "What do you think I told her? I said you were having a delayed reaction and you'd probably object at the wedding."

"And that shut her up?"

"Not really. The whole gang suspects there's something up with you."

"Just because I'm not reacting the way they expect me to?" he snaps back, starting to get defensive.

"I gotta be honest, man, I fully expected you to be more negative about it too," James confesses. "I know what it's been like with us, and Ted and Marshall too. There was a time when one of us getting married would have been the same as dying in your mind."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Barney sharply retorts. "Throw a tantrum? Tell you it's not too late to back out of this stupid marriage thing and question how you could even consider it in the first place when we were raised in the same house with the same values? Remind you that it's always been you and me together, being awesome, while the rest of the world walked two-by-two onto their ark of sexless boredom, but now you've crossed enemy lines and are abandoning me?" He's a little out of breath after his outburst and straightens his cuffs that don't need straightening just for something to do. "Come on," he mutters quietly, "that's embarrassing."

"Look, Barney, I won't say that just because I'm getting married it doesn't mean things are going to change. They will. They already have. Tom is number one in my life; that's just what happens when you fall in love. And there's something else: we've both agreed we'd like a kid right away."

That has Barney's attention. After a moment, he finally replies. "However anyone expects me to act, James, I can't tell you I'm not going to let you do this, because you're a grown adult. I can't even tell you that you're making a huge mistake….because the truth is I don't know if you are," Barney admits. "I've never seen you happier. You have a new…calm, I guess you'd call it, about you that I've never seen before."

James's mouth stretches into a smile. "I'm glad you feel that way. Because, no matter what, you're always going to be my brother. And I'd like you to be my best man." He pauses, letting it sink in. "Is that something you think you could do?"

"Yeah," Barney nods. "I can."

To most, that's not exactly a ringing endorsement, but James knows that in the world of Barney Stinson it's an irrefutable symbol of his blessing.

And it is groundbreaking.

"Believe me, Barney; I fought this for a long time. It felt unnatural to me too at first. But I fell in love. And Tom and I realized you can't fight love." James notes a slight twitch of Barney's head and a cocking of his eyebrow in concession to that. "I don't know about the others, but I'm proud of you for the way you're handling this. A few years ago you would have _freaked_. Even the Barney of earlier _this_ year would have reacted a lot more radically. There's obviously a difference here…." He proceeds tactfully, delicately. "Maybe you're even opening up to the idea of love and feelings?….And I think that difference is Robin."

"Ech," Barney dismisses in revulsion. "You sound like Lily. Rest assured, James, the only opening I plan on doing is hers."

James glances over at him frankly. Barney always goes to the over-exaggerated lechery when he's feeling vulnerable, when things are striking too close to home. One look and they both know that's what's happening. "Are you ever going to tell them about her?"

"What is there to tell? She's a friend. She's a bro."

"If there's nothing to tell then why haven't you told them?" James calls his bluff. "Don't you think they'd find it interesting that Barney Stinson has a new friend he hangs out with all the time, and that friend just happens to be a hot woman – a hot woman who he _hasn't_ slept with?"

"Yeah, they'd find it interesting. They'd find it _too_ interesting. That's the problem. They'd make a big deal out of it. Lily would never let it go. She'd want the two of them to be some kind of bestie girlfriends, and that's the last thing Robin would want. She's already got her hands full with Patrice."

"….Oh, I see what this is about," James says knowingly. "You don't want to share her. You want to keep her all to yourself. You don't want to have to share her time. And you're a little bit afraid she might like one of them better than you and then maybe you won't get to spend so much time with her."

"I don't – that's not – " Barney sputters. "Look, this is _my_ business okay. Let's just drop it. Let's focus on work and get this case closed so the last ten years of my life weren't wasted."

The car is quiet for a long while after that until the GNB tower eventually looms above them. And all the while Barney knows that James can see right through him and his obvious defense mechanism.

"It's – it's not like I introduce them to _everyone_ I meet," Barney says suddenly, making it clear he's been thinking about it the whole drive over. "They don't know Arthur either," he tries.

James shakes his head. "That's not the same, Barney."

"She's just a friend," he insists again.

"Okay..." James lets it go, but as the car pulls to a stop in front of the GNB building he has one last piece of advice to impart. "Friend or something more, they're going to eventually run into each other, you know. But once they do, she's still going to want to hang with you. I love those guys too, but you're by far the coolest of the bunch."

"Of course I am; I'm _awesome_," Barney readily concurs, as cocky as ever, as if none of their messy exchange had occurred at all or he'd even for the smallest second revealed himself to be an ordinary, susceptible human being. But after a moment he quietly adds, "And so are you, bro."

"Does that mean _I_ get to meet her?" James grins.

Barney elbows him. "What's this fascination with everyone meeting her? It's weird. I don't go around just introducing her to people. She's not my girlfriend. We're not a thing. We're – " He cuts off, leaving it at that. "…..but if I _did_, then yeah, I'd want her to meet you first."

"Because _I'm_ awesome," he smirks.

"That's why together we're going to break this case and nail Greg's ass to the wall."

"Damn straight," James agrees, and they do an exploding fist bump before getting out of the car.

* * *

Friday night, Barney meets Robin at her Metro News 1 bar for drinks. It's the first time he's seen her in days and there's no denying the extra twist of excitement he feels when he spots her waiting at a table.

He slides into the seat across from her, taking a sip of the drink she already has there for him. "Works been keeping you busy," he remarks.

"You too. That goes both ways."

Barney resists the obvious joke there and simply acknowledges, "It's been a rough week….But I've been watching you trying to keep Sandy in line. That's not an easy task, and I've got to hand it to you; this is the most actual news content I've ever seen on your channel. How do _you_ like the new job?"

"I love the opportunity. Like you said, Sandy's a pill, and it's still very much an uphill battle." Robin continues to tick off the obstacles ahead of her. "The network only wants to do this grim combination of fluff and sensationalism, and Sandy is always a loose cannon. Landing an interview with the city councilwoman embroiled in that cheating scandal was a real coup for me. I wanted to ask her about the allegations that they used taxpayer funds to cover up the affair, but Sandy didn't even give me a chance what with all his disgusting puns about the things she could do to _his_ legislative body." She shakes her head, waving it off. "But it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let him get to me. I've finally got my foot in the door and I'm giving it all I've got."

"You should, Scherbatsky. Give him hell."

He takes another long drink and Robin watches him, notices he seems off tonight, a bit distracted and weary. "You look tired."

"Tired from all the tail I've been getting," he attempts, but then modifies, "Besides, Barney Stinson never gets tired; he gets awesome instead."

She levels him with a glance. "Barney, I'm serious."

"I may have pulled a couple of all-nighters – and not the fun kind." The past two days brought some big disappointments at GNB and it's starting to become clear to Barney that they really might not be able to bring this in by the deadline. If that happens all of his and so many other people's efforts will be wasted, criminals will go free, and he'll have lost everything he's fought for all this time. He's been _living_ for this revenge for the past decade. He doesn't know what he'll do if he doesn't succeed, if he never gets his retribution. "I'm having some trouble at work too," he ultimately confides.

"Oh? Has there been a bank run?" she teases him.

"For the hundredth time, I've told you, I'm not a banker," he sighs.

He seems alarmingly downtrodden, particularly for Barney, and Robin experiences an immediate stab of remorse followed by a pang of empathy for him that's so sharp it takes her a moment to recognize this new feeling.

"Sorry," she offers gently. "I _do_ want to help." He's basically responsible for getting her the co-anchor position. He went out of his way for her, and she wants to be there for him too. "After everything you did for me at Metro News 1, it's the least I can do."

"Nah." He shakes his head. "You don't have to do anything for me; that's not why I did it."

"I hate to play the 'bro' card, but I will if I have to." Robin gives him a sly smile. "According to the Bro Code, a bro – and I'm yours – is 'a lifelong companion you can trust will always be there for you'."

"'Unless he's got something else going on'," he finishes.

"Lucky for you, I've got my whole evening free. So talk to me; what's going on?"

Barney sighs again, finishing off his drink. "I'm not really at liberty to discuss it." Seeing suspicion cloud her expression, he improvises. "Uh, because of client confidentiality. But as a financial and data analyst we do some…auditing…of accounts, _bank_ accounts and such," he embellishes, because the more authentic details you add, the more believable the lie. "And with one of them we've been working on for a very long time things just aren't adding up. It's all on me now; I have until the end of next month to figure out why or my company is going to have to write it off and we lose years' worth of work – and I probably lose my job."

"Wow," Robin mumbles after a moment. "That sucks."

"Yeah," he says with a humorless laugh. "It _more_ than just sucks."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to say." And he notes that she looks disappointed in herself. "I'm not very good at the whole supportive thing."

Barney captures her gaze, not wanting her to believe he meant it as some deficiency in her. "I think you're better than you give yourself credit for."

Her mouth curves into a small smile. "Well, without knowing the specifics it's hard to give very useful advice, but I will say this: back when I was in journalism school – yes, believe it or not, I _have_ been trained to do more than just read off a teleprompter – they used to assign us to shadow professionals in the field as a way of honing our investigative skills. I was placed with a private detective, and he was working a case about a woman who had been assaulted and murdered. Her family didn't trust the police to carry out the investigation so they hired him on their own. From the very beginning suspicion fell on the Mountie who discovered her body in the street, not only because the circumstances of the discovery were dubious but he was also her recent ex-boyfriend who she'd just dumped. Everything pointed to him; it seemed like it should have been an open and shut case. But he had a rock solid alibi, so both the police and the family's detective looked elsewhere and the trail turned cold. The case went unsolved for months and it looked like there would _never_ be a break in it, but Pierre – that was the name of the detective – never felt right about the Mountie. Everyone told him he was wasting his time but he kept digging and eventually hit pay dirt. Turns out the Mountie's alibi was bogus and a couple of his buddies from the Force had been covering for him the whole time; Pierre had the horseshoe tracks to prove it. Plus the guy had killed her sled dog too because he didn't want a witness."

Barney had been listening attentively the whole time and when she finishes he says slowly, "That is the most Canadian story I have ever heard."

Robin shoots him a smartass look. "That may be, but it taught me a valuable lesson I keep in mind whenever I'm working a story: when you've come to a dead-end, always go back to the start. And that's my advice to you too. Return to the basics of the case and go from there. Sometimes the most obvious lead is overlooked as too simple when it can actually be the key to uncovering the case if you only dig a little."

Barney ponders what Robin said for the rest of the night. It even creeps into his dreams when after forty-eight long hours he's finally able to get a solid night's sleep.

_Always go back to the start_. _Sometimes the most obvious lead is overlooked_.

Her words swim around and around in his mind until finally it hits him at 6 a.m. when he wakes with a start: the Costa Coffee folder.

Barney had briefly spotted a manila folder with that marking when he was working with Greg in his office this past summer. He'd dismissed it at the time in favor of the Wharmpess file that turned out to be nothing. All of his training dictates that he _should_ have given it further thought, but his past obliterated his objectivity.

The truth is he doesn't like to think about those days back at Costa Coffee, doesn't like to remember his humiliation there and the dark time to follow. But if he hadn't been so caught up in his own shame he would have recognized how out of place that folder was.

Robin said go back to the start, and Costa Coffee is where everything started.

That's where it started for _him_ anyway. It led to his FBI career. It led to him swearing off feelings. It's what first made him suit up. Hell, the fallout from his time managing Costa Coffee is what made him who he is today.

But while Costa Coffee has everything to do with him, it has nothing to do with GNB other than one executive who just happened to pick up a girl there to be his sex buddy, and that doesn't even remotely pertain to business.

There should be no folder for Costa Coffee.

It's a front. A run-of-the-mill, unremarkable alias Greg didn't expect anyone to recognize or care about and therefore never look inside – but he underestimated Barney.

And whatever's _actually_ in that folder, it must be something well worth hiding.

There's no way he's sitting on this till Monday…and doing it on the weekend is actually his best shot at going undetected.

Barney hurries from bed, suits up without taking the time to shower, and heads in to GNB bright and early.

At this time on a Saturday morning, there's no one there yet but janitors, cleaning women, a few of the twenty-four hour guards, and two commissary employees preparing breakfast – one of whom just happens to be Louisa Mendoza.

Bingo.

Maybe Ted's right about the Universe because it turns out there _was_ a reason – other than a second round of mediocre sex – why he didn't brush off Louisa in the usual manner after she somehow came to believe they're engaged!

Right now, he uses it to his advantage in convincing Louisa to get her janitor friend to drop his other work and come do the window frame repair in Greg's office that he's been requesting…..which puts Rafael up on a ladder directly in front of the security camera, blocking out Barney's actions as he slips into the office, picks the lock on Greg's filing cabinet, and retrieves the Costa Coffee folder.

Once he's got the folder safely outside of the GNB building, the very second he's back in the town car with Ranjit at the wheel, Barney whips open the folder.

What he finds inside is enough to bring tears to his eyes – but not out of them; that would be a violation of Article 41: A Bro never cries. Because, _finally_, after all these years he's got it, the smoking gun that will send Greg and all the others like him at GNB to federal prison for a very long while.

All this time Barney was right. It _does_ go back to the AltruCell merger. A merger that was financed at least in part by Kim Jong-il. And now he holds in his hands the files to prove it.

This means _everything_.

His world is about to explode in the best way possible, and it's all thanks to Robin.


	26. The Lusty Leopard

Two days before Thanksgiving, Robin's at MacLaren's winding down at the bar when close behind her she hears a seductive, "A hundred dollars says when you turn around I say 'wow'."

She smirks, recognizing the voice right away, and swivels on the stool to face him. "Barney, what have I told you about checking the mirror?"

"Robin," he says with a look of what she can tell is genuine surprise. "I thought you were busy with work."

"I was following up some leads, but Patrice took over. She said I've been doing too many long nights this past week and I should go out and have some fun." She conspicuously left out that Patrice specifically told her to go have some fun _with him_. "So I came here to surprise you. I knew it was only a matter of time before you'd show up looking for some action, but I didn't expect you to hit on _me_ by accident," she grins. "That was a bonus treat."

Barney gives her a purposeful little onceover, taking in what he noticed from across the room: the way her deep salmon, cap sleeve, body-hugging dress shows off her assets – including a length short enough to fully display those long legs of hers all the way to mid-thigh. "Not my fault," he assesses after a scan of her figure. "You look good from behind. Too good to pass up."

Robin smiles coyly. "You're saying you wouldn't have been disappointed in this particular blind approach?"

"Are you kidding? You look even better from the front. I'd be mentally self-fiving right now."

"So I take it then your sole goal for tonight is some between the sheets action?"

"Naturally. This is a holiday week, the perfect time to score. College chicks are back in town. Their moms just made a snide comment about the weight they gained. They called her a bitch, but deep down they know she's right. And they're all about to walk through that door where I will be waiting with some light beer and some _rock hard_ approval. Wh-what u-up?" he cheers, raising his glass.

Shaking her head at him, she laughs and in turn Barney grins. "Yes, Robin, the holidays are a special time…..a special time to drink and score some booty!"

"Yeah, I saw your blog."

"It's true; chicks dig holiday-themed beverages. But now that you're here, I'll put the quest for booty on hold for tonight – or will I," he interjects suggestively, giving her a sexy wink, " – so that we can embark on a little festive bender of our own. I have everything we need right here."

"Alright, I'm game," she cheerfully agrees. "What do you got?"

Barney gestures to Carl and the bartender nods, starting to fix up his order. "I've got all the necessary ingredients for the Thankstini, a fun and delicious new novelty drink I invented."

"Hm, I was hoping for the Christmas Ham. Bourbon, brown sugar, and bacon bits?" She licks her lips. "How can you go wrong?"

"I'll make that one for you on Christmas. Take your holidays as they come, Scherbatsky. Don't be one of those who skips over Thanksgiving."

Robin just shrugs. "Real Thanksgiving will always be the second Monday in October to me."

He looks at her in revulsion. "Excuse me, did you just say Canadian Thanksgiving is, and I'm quoting, 'the real Thanksgiving'?"

"I keep forgetting American Thanksgiving is even in November."

Barney makes an appalled sound. "There is no _American_ Thanksgiving. Just Thanksgiving. The pilgrims and the Indians. _That's_ Thanksgiving. Did any pilgrims come to Canada? No. Cause who the hell would want to sail across the ocean to _Canada_? What do Canadians _ever_ have to celebrate? Why are you guys even a country?"

"Okay, obviously explorers came. Martin Frobisher – "

"Op, op, enough out of you, Canada," he dismisses with a shudder. "Now, back to the Thankstini." Carl fortuitously delivers his order just then and Barney gestures to the components one by one. "Potato vodka." He points to the full shot glasses. "And cranberry juice." He indicates the drinking glasses filled halfway with the beverage. "Provided by MacLaren's. And I – " He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws a baggie of several golden foil wrapped squares. " – brought a chicken bouillon cube for each of us."

Robin gives it all a sideways glace, pretty sure this is a bad idea, but she's up for it anyway; he has that effect on her.

"Allow me to do the honors," he announces, and pours the shots of vodka into the juice, then drops a bouillon cube in each one, swirling the glasses around. "You just gotta give it a minute," he says as he hands her off one.

She looks dubiously down into the fizzing liquid and finally decides, "What the hell?", clinking her glass to his before they each take a sip.

"Tastes just like a turkey dinner!" Barney raves.

"It really does!" They both take another drink then, slowly, another. "….Okay, Barney, this is seriously gross."

"Yeah, I'll be sick if I drink this," he agrees, pushing it away.

"Yeah," Robin nods, doing the same with hers. "So what's our next drink?" She looks to him expectantly. "One drink does not a 'festive bender' make. What else do you have planned?"

He tilts his head in consolation. "Sadly, I can't stay and get sloshed with you tonight, Scherbatsky."

"What? Come on! What about bros before hos? I thought you were going to postpone your quest for booty to leave no man behind."

"I didn't want to have to get into it, but the truth is I was only gonna grab some numbers for later. I actually have an appointment in – " Barney lifts his wrist, checking his watch. " – twenty minutes." She gives him a questioning look and he reluctantly admits, "In honor of Thanksgiving, I'm doing some charity work tonight at a homeless shelter. I don't advertise or brag it around, but I volunteer there. I think it's important to help the less fortunate. I'm the Angelina Jolie of incredibly hot guys," he declares, straightening his tie. "I like to spend my time giving back."

Robin stares him down skeptically. "There is no way that is true."

"It _could_ be true. I'd love giving it to your back," he quips, miming her curvaceous behind.

She rolls her eyes.

"I really do charity work," Barney persists but can see she's unconvinced. "If you don't believe me you can check with Kendall, the director of the Hungry Hands organization." He pulls his time sheet out of his other pocket and opens it to show, to her surprise, a flash of the nearly full ledger. "I've been going there every Sunday for the past month. But in honor of Thanksgiving, I'm pulling a doubleheader this week."

Despite his supposed evidence, this still reeks of a Barney scheme. "Let me see that," she insists, snatching the paper from his hand.

"That's my private, personal business!" he protests, trying to get it back from her to no avail.

"Court-mandated community service?" she reads with delighted eyes. "Oh my god, you're on probation?" she laughs, and then asks in titillation, "What did you do?"

His lips go pursed and he resorts to repeating, "That's my private, personal business!"

It doesn't matter because she just reads it for herself. "Public urination?" she snickers.

"I was unfairly punished because the wall belonged to the judge's church."

"You peed on a _church_?"

"I peed in an _alley_ which happened to have a church. Which I did not see. Because I was drunk."

"Ah, that makes sense. "All's right with the world again."

"Okay, fine, so a judge is making me do this. But I'm still doing it. And kicking ass at it, BTW. I've brought in a record number of donations, both monetary and grocery. Since I've been going there Helping Hands has been able to feed more hungry and homeless than ever before."

She blinks at him, thinking about what he just said. "Wow. You're right. Thanksgiving – American or Canadian – is all about appreciating what you have. While we're appreciating it, we really _should_ take some time out to help the less fortunate who haven't enjoyed the same blessings we have. You know what, Barney?" Robin decides. "I'm in. Let's go there together."

"Alright!" he readily agrees. "You can see the good I do there, plus get in on a little of the action yourself. Let's go rock this food bank SWAT style!"

* * *

At the Helping Hands shelter, Barney shows Robin around, ditches his jacket and dons his usual light blue t-shirt over his shirt and tie, rolls up his sleeves ready to work, but first takes her over to see his Volunteer of the Year plaque and photo – with soup ladle in hand – hanging in a place of honor on the wall.

It goes off track early on, however, when Robin is told that only the most prestigious and seasoned volunteers are allowed to work the food line. Frowning, she realizes that means the two of them are going to be separated for the night. "But I guess it doesn't matter," she decides. "The important thing is that we're here doing good."

"I've learned in my time here that really _is_ the most important thing," Barney judiciously concurs. "It's amazing out there, Robin."

She smiles, thinking of all the hidden depths he apparently has - until he continues, "I do so much good here it's like I've got a _soul_ boner! The way the faces of the less fortunate light up when you give them a hot, nutritious meal; is there a better feeling on earth?"

Barney's still Barney, but Robin knows he's a nice guy underneath it all. She remembers how he gave that $5000 tip to Wendy to help her sick sister. It's only fair to give credit where credit is due. Still, he's laying it on suspiciously thick. "Yesterday you said the best feeling on earth was getting your toes sucked. Then you requested a high-five with your foot."

He smirks at her. "Well, I'd better get out there. There's a lot of food to give out. And a lot of smiles."

After Robin's left in the kitchen alone she decides to make the best of it. "What do you need me to do?" she asks Kendall.

He brings her over to a stack of boxes, each brimming with food and canned goods. "Okay now, this is important." Robin nods, showing him she's taking this task seriously. "Go through all these boxes of food donations, take out the really good stuff, and put it into this box." He indicates the empty one on a nearby table.

"Alright, I can do that."

Robin spends the next hour diligently going through all the boxes. Barney pops in and out of the backroom a time or two and he smiles and winks at her but doesn't have time for much more than that since he's so busy getting things done. When he buzzes through one more time it makes her reflect as she does the rest of her sorting on how much good he really does do here, what a compassionate person he is behind his facade. Court-mandated community service is one thing, but he wouldn't _have_ to work so hard at it; he's doing that all on his own.

She's never been the kind of woman who's turned on by a "nice guy". She feels _safe_ with a nice guy, to be sure. A guy like Turk Grimsby. She knows that's the sort of man you're supposed to be with when you settle down. And if she ever _were_ to consider seriously dating someone then, yeah, it would be with that kind of nice guy who walks grandmas across the street, saves kittens out of trees, and feeds the homeless on weekends. Yet, while she's always understood the merits of such a man as "boyfriend material", she's never been drawn to them, never found them sexy. She's never before had the reaction of seeing a guy doing something nice and sweet and feeling a subsequent urge to jump his bones.

But with Barney it's different. Whenever she experiences his considerate, caring side she has a whole different response to it. Maybe it's because he actually _isn't_ a nice guy through and through. He's at least part "bad boy", so when he's being altruistic and sweet and revealing that softness he has to him underneath it all, it's like the perfect combination of both sides.

And it makes her want him more than she did on Halloween, even more than the night of the bare pickle incident.

Fortunately, Barney doesn't notice her appreciative eyes and raging hormones. He merely shoots her a grin as he walks back into the main room with a new tray full of stuffing.

Once he's no longer there to distract her, Robin gets back on task, placing a package of truffles in to the "good" box, the last of the items to sort. She calls Kendall over, showing him her progress. "Alright, it's all set. What is this box for anyway? Are you saving it for Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Oh no, you can put it in my car." He gestures to the parking lot out back.

Her brow furrows in confusion. "In your car?" she repeats slowly, hoping she's misunderstood. "And then you'll take it to another shelter that needs it?"

"No, silly." Kendall pokes her arm, laughing. "I'm taking it home. That's for me."

Robin's sinking feeling quickly turns to outrage. "That's terrible. Not only is your selfishness depriving the needy but people contributed that food under the assurance it was going to feed the hungry. You're misappropriating donations. What you're doing is illegal."

And that's how they both get thrown out and banned from Hungry Hands.

"….I didn't know threatening to report him would get you kicked out too," Robin offers softly when they're standing outside on the sidewalk.

"I have forty hours left on my community service," Barney sighs. "And now I've got to spend it spearing trash on a freakin' median strip."

"I'm really sorry, Barney. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"I'm glad you asked," he replies, all at once brightened. "Come with me for my _real_ holiday tradition: Thanksgiving in a strip club." At her look of revulsion he assures her, "The Lusty Leopard has a surprisingly good buffet. Plus on Thanksgiving they do this thing where Heather dresses up as a pilgrim, and Misty dresses up as an Indian, and they 'share a meal' together, if you know what I'm saying."

"God, Barney."

"I'm sorry, a _Native American_," he corrects himself.

"This was your plan the whole time, wasn't it?" Robin shrewdly accuses. "You tricked me into coming with you tonight just so I'd see you being all benevolent and that would guilt me into this whole strip club thing."

Barney laughs evilly.

"You are Satan."

When it looks like maybe she might actually be peeved with him, he reveals, "I really was going to Helping Hands tonight all on my own. If you remember, running into you at MacLaren's was by your design, not mine. But after you laughed so hard at the very idea of me doing anything charitable I wanted to show you how wrong you were about me. It was only _after_ you had us blackballed from the shelter that I came up with this new idea for how you can repay me."

Robin blows out a heavy breath of surrender. "Fine. I'll go with you to The Lusty Leopard – but only because I got you kicked out. And I'm _not_ going on Thanksgiving. Even though it's just American Thanksgiving, a strip club on any holiday is still too bleak a scene for me."

"But….Volunteer of the Year," he reminds her.

"You didn't let me finish. I won't go on Thanksgiving, but I'll go with you tonight."

"Really? This is gonna be _awe-some_!" Barney cheers, throwing his hand up for a high five.

Robin gives it to him unenthusiastically. "Yep, cause what could be more awesome than a strip club on a Tuesday night?"

* * *

Perched on stools sitting stage-side at The Lusty Leopard while AC/DC's "Back in Black" blasts from the overhead speakers they dig into their plates from the buffet and Robin is shocked to discover, "This is surprisingly good."

"_Right_? I told you so," Barney beams.

"Overall, this place isn't as horrible as I thought it would be," she has to admit. "From what I've read in your blog I had this idea of fishnets and velvet curtains and glitter everywhere. Not that all those things aren't true, but I guess I just expected it to be grungier and seedier and maybe – "

She stops abruptly when she glances over at Barney and he's intently watching the blonde in pasties and a thong gyrate provocatively on stage. The stripper walks a few feet, proceeding to enthusiastically dry hump the pole, and he's practically salivating.

And Robin finds she doesn't like it all. She's hit with a prickly hot pang – part resentment, part distress – watching him watch this woman. Whatever the feeling is, it undeniably bothers her the way he's ogling the strippers.

However unwarranted, her irritation is clear in her tone as Robin asks, "Barney? Did you hear anything I just said?"

"Mm-hmm," he mutters distractedly, his eyes never leaving the stage. "You're into the non-grunginess of The Lusty Leopard….." He trails off, distracted by the on-stage twerking but eventually picks back up the thread of conversation. "Can't say I'm with you in that respect, but I too love the place. In fact – ooh-ooh! This is the part where Misty grips the pole with just her thighs and upside down motorboats Diamond...I'd like to get my hands on those jewels. Or better yet, my mouth! But if we're real lucky she'll do the trick tonight where she breaks a balloon across the room by shooting a dart out of her – "

"Barney!" They're interrupted by the overexcited girlish voice of a new stripper who's just walked up to them.

"Hey there, Candy," Barney drawls, as smooth as ever.

Candy, Robin looks up to discover, has a long mop of pink curls and is wearing nothing but a scant teddy and sparkling lip gloss; she smells like bubblegum.

"What'll it be tonight?" she coos. "How can Candy take care of your cane?"

"Ha-ha, gotta love the holiday puns!" He elbows Robin. "But you should have gone with something Thanksgiving related like 'a turkey isn't the only thing getting stuffed tonight'!"

"You're so funny, Barney," she titters. "….I'll give you a private show. You know I'll go extra for you, sweetie." She rubs his shoulders, her boobs practically smacking him in the face.

"Thanks, Candy, but I have my friend here with me tonight," Barney demurs, giving her a twenty anyway. He indicates Robin sitting next to him. "This is her first time; I'm showing her the ropes."

"Aw, that's sweet." She turns to Robin. "You want a lap dance, honey? First one's on the house."

"Uh, no, no thank you. I'm good."

"Well, if you change your mind I'll be back in twenty once I finish breastfeeding in the back." . Candy waves off behind the curtain.

Robin's expression goes shocked. "Your – your baby's here?"

"The Lusty Leopard has a very liberal-minded nursery program for single moms," Barney informs her.

"It was Barney's idea; isn't he sweet? I think he single-handedly financed it too!"

Robin's mouth sets into a thin line. "I'll bet."

"Okay then," Candy says bouncily. "I'll send over another round of your usual Glen McKenna, Barney, and when Misty gets finished on stage she'll head over to give you your _other_ usual…I know you love the way she gives you a hand," she winks expressively.

Robin glances back and forth between Barney and Misty up on the stage – who has since whipped off her pasties and is now topless, staying aloft by just one leg wound about the pole and the other spread wide invitingly. The bit of information Candy just shared adds a whole new tint to the way Barney's watching Misty on stage. Robin likes it even less now, which is something she didn't think possible.

But it's not just Misty; he's turned on by all of them. Robin can plainly read the lust on his face and…and she's….._jealous_ of it. Crazy jealous. Jealous of _strippers_, strippers who clearly have their own issues and are only paid to be here with zero intentions of capturing Barney's affections. And yet still, she's jealous of the way he's looking at them, of the way he wants them.

She's truly reached a new low, and she hates feeling this way, experiencing this unleashing of the green-eyed monster – least of all over _Barney_. What is the matter with her?!

She needs oh so much more alcohol.

"Keep the drinks coming," she calls after Candy as she departs.

Robin downs her scotch as soon as it arrives. It sends a pleasant buzz through her that loosens her up a little, but that only leads to an equally troubling result because soon she's drinking and laughing and _enjoying_ herself. At a stripclub_. _With Barney.

It's unsettling, unhinging, this effect he has on her; that he somehow talked her into this at all, and that now she's actually having fun with him...while also finding him extremely sexy and appealing and feeling increasingly drawn to him even here in his natural habitat of sex and debauchery that ought to make her do just the opposite of want him.

That in itself becomes so unsettling that Robin decides scotch isn't doing the job quickly enough. She proposes instead they do several rounds of shots, and they both wind up getting very drunk fairly quickly.

And it's because of all that alcohol coursing through her veins that Robin is tossing her head about and grooving inhibition free to "Pour Some Sugar On Me", one hand thrown carelessly in the air, the other still holding a drink as she stands beside the stage "Woooing!" and shaking what her mamma gave her.

A charmed Barney is grooving alongside her, but when he lets his eyes travel over her – paying special attention to the sway of her hips as she moves – he sets his drink down to reach out and draw her near until they're dancing together.

Grinning, Robin accepts the changeup willingly, switching her drink from her right hand to her left and discarding it onto a nearby table so she can rest her arms loosely over his shoulders. And it's nice….It's nice until the song ends and "She's My Cherry Pie" comes blaring out, evidently the on-stage girls' cue to start doing unspeakable things with various fruits, thereby recapturing Barney's gaze.

She sees him eyeing them again, riveted, and in her inebriated state Robin half frowns-half pouts. "They're really _not_ that hot," she mutters with a telling huffiness that draws his attention back to her. "Their hotness isn't even real. It's circumstantial hotness. _I_ can be like them too, you know."

He gives her a knowing smirk. "I don't doubt it. I'm sure you'd be _better_ than them." Drunk Barney is quite enjoying Drunk Robin's possessiveness and immediately sets out to make it clear that if she wants him, she's got him. "From the look of it beneath that dress, you would blow my mind…..Do you know, I've all but gone bare pickle in front of you and I've never even seen you in a bikini, not to mention your bra and panties? Topless in a G-string like them? Forget it! You'd completely short-circuit my brain."

"Luckily, your brain wouldn't be the part we'd be needing," she quips suggestively, making him laugh in delight. "But I _can_ be like them," Robin slurs, "like all the things you've been watching and liking."

His eyebrow goes up. "Yeah?..."

"Mm-hmm." And she circles her hips in time to the music.

Barney slides his hand down the small of her back to rest his fingers against her tailbone. "Forget about me. What do _you_ like, Scherbatsky?"

She shoots him a naughty smile. "You were right the first night; I like it dirty."

"I _know_ you do," he grins wickedly, and she's pleased to have his full interest, that all his lechery is directed back on her again.

"Do you want me to get up on stage and dance with Misty and Jade and Trixie?"

"_Please_," he hums keenly.

"Will you make it rain?" she teases him, but then he actually pulls a wad of money out, completely willing to do so. "Put your wallet away. I wasn't serious." Still, it has Robin thinking. "…..But you know….you promised to give me the full strip club experience tonight…."

"Haven't I?"

She's seen The Lusty Leopard and its women, but there's one thing prominently featured in all his writings that she has yet to encounter. "Not the _whole_ experience. Remember, I read your blog."

He gazes down at her, still not understanding.

"I want to see what The Champagne Room is like."

"You want me to buy us a private dance in there?" Barney asks, thrilled at the notion.

"Not with any of those girls," Robin glowers. "I just want to go see it. _Without_ any of them."

"That's not really how it works."

"But you come here often enough; you must own stock or something. So use your clot – clotch – _clout_," she laughs, finally managing to get the word out, "and get us in there."

It's the 'us' that grabs Barney's fascination, making his eyes widen slightly. "Wait, wait, let me get this – you want me to buy us some alone time _together_ in there?"

"That's what I've been saying," she giggles.

"Just you _and_ me?" he clarifies.

"Yeah. I've got the daddy issues, right?" Robin laughs, shrugging. "Why not see what it feels like to be a stripper? And you can tell me how good I am at it. Hey! Maybe they've even got a pole!"

"Yes. Yes! _Yes_!" Barney enthuses, waving over a girl.

"But it _has_ to be The Champagne Room," Robin reiterates. "That's the one I want to see."

She has no idea how much he pays to pull it off but they're soon escorted through the inner workings of the strip club to the most elite, private area.

It's a small rectangular room, about the size of a large bathroom – but then no one is looking for spaciousness when they request a visit here. Pink champagne colored satin lines three of the walls. The back wall has a deep pink champagne velvet bench built into the wall with the covering continuing up to the ceiling. Strings of clear beads hang down around the corners and the room is dimly lit in a pink hue by two small, gaudy crystal chandeliers.

While the rest of The Lusty Leopard may have surprised her, The Champagne Room is exactly as Robin expected – which means that tonight for the mood she's in it is _perfect_.

"Here it is in all its glory," Barney announces as they step inside. He nudges her, slyly revealing, "Now's about the time I'd be getting grinded like some pepper."

"No one's supposed to be in here alone. You've got ten minutes," Heather warns, closing the door behind them.

And then Barney and Robin are alone in The Champagne Room.

"Okay," Robin smiles seductively. "I'll start." Flipping her hair back over her shoulder, she approaches him. "Work my way up to the grinding."

She glides her arms up over his shoulders and Barney's hands instantly settle at her waist. When her fingers begin to play at his neck, he in turn strokes his thumb in rhythmic half-circles over her abdomen. In response, Robin runs her nails over the nape of his neck enticingly and leans in to whisper in his ear.

"You want to know something?" She nestles her nose against his skin, breathing him in. "I've always thought you smell _incredible_." Her tongue darts out to lick his outer ear. "…Mm, I like the way you taste." She licks the inner shell of his ear now, this time slower and longer, and he groans faintly, his fingers tightening at her waist. Robin smiles softly at his reaction, pulling back to look into his eyes. "Is that good?"

"See for yourself…." Bending his mouth to her ear, Barney draws her closer and murmurs, "I've always thought you _feel_ incredible."

He curls his tongue around her earlobe, then brushes his lips over the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. By the time he moves his mouth down to apply the soft suction of a kiss where her jaw and neck meet, a heavy ache burns in the core of her and Robin escalates things, setting her palms against his chest and running them over his muscles if purely for the tactile pleasure of it.

Gliding her hands down his sides beneath his jacket, she grips his hips and pulls him flush against her. "You ready for that lap dance?" Her lips graze his throat and the sultry timbre of her voice goes straight to his groin. "Cause I know just how to grind it out."

His tie is in her hand, her breath is on his neck, and when she traces her fingers low over his hips, taking his belt buckle into her hand as if to undo it, something primal bubbles over in him and Barney grunts, nudging her body back against the pink satin. "Do you know how much I want to take you right here against this wall?"

"I can feel that…..Impressive." She bends her leg, vining her knee up over his hip and propping her foot back against the wall.

Pleasantly surprised, Barney shimmies into the opening she's provided until he's cozied himself between her legs. "Does that mean you want to?" He moves his hand down to caress the bare silken skin of her thigh. "Robin, I'll make it _so_ good for you," he moans.

A throaty giggle is her response. "Next thing you'll be promising just the tip."

He gives a deep, lustful chuckle. "No, I'm going deep-sea diving. _All_ the way. I'm gonna find your 'Oh Canada' spot."

And Robin can't help it; she brushes her pelvis into his, not exactly like a pepper mill but still grinding once involuntarily. His eyes spark at the contact. Hers too go hazy, and he notices from the rise and fall of her breasts that her breathing has grown heavy. "You _want_ me to find it…don't you?" he asks with a tinge of hopeful amazement in his voice.

Robin only hesitates a moment before she nods.

Barney's expression is appreciatively relieved, most of all eager, and he wastes no time stroking his hand further up her thigh. Far from stopping him, Robin closes her eyes, savoring it, letting her head fall back against the wall in pleasure as she heatedly clings to him. He drops his lips down to her throat, edging his fingers beneath the hem of her dress, but before they can get very far the door to The Champagne Room swings open.

"Your ten minutes are up," Heather tells them flatly. "You guys are gonna have to take that home."

Robin is too plastered to be anything other than mildly frustrated at the interruption. What's more, once they're back out into the main room, back to reality, she very quickly resolves that it was a _fortunate_ intrusion. Barney, however, has yet to give up.

Not trusting her to an unknown cab driver all the way back to Brooklyn when she's this hammered, he calls Ranjit to pick them up and pays him handsomely to see her safely home after they've drop him off.

Leaning together agreeably in the back of the town car, Robin runs a hand through her tousled hair as she looks over to Barney. "Good thing Heather came when she did."

"Yeah….otherwise _you_ would have." He grins, and his raised eyebrow along with the look in his eyes clearly question how that would have been such a bad thing.

There are parts of her inclined to agree, but she reminds him, "Otherwise we might have broken The Silver Rule."

"_Platinum_ Rule."

"Huh?"

"It's called The Platinum Rule," he corrects her. It goes quiet for a few moments until Barney relents, "But I get it: don't poop where you eat."

"Exactly," she nods. "Wait, is sex the eating or the pooping?"

Barney considers that half a second. "The pooping, cause it's doing the dirty."

"I kind of thought it would be the eating," Robin smirks over at him, "cause….you know."

"Nice!" he laughs, enchanted by her awesomeness.

As Ranjit continues to drive, Barney edges further and further down Robin's side until his shoulder is against her hip. "I'll eat _you_, Scherbatsky." He hums roguishly, nuzzling his face into her abdomen.

Robin softly laughs and pivots her body to more fully face him, stretching her leg out to rest over his knee. Barney's hand immediately alights there.

"Technically, that doesn't count as actual sex," he reasons. "….And I guarantee you'll love it." He pokes his tongue out to lick over her hipbone through her dress.

"You're drunk," she grins.

"So are you. So what? I'm still good at it when I'm drunk." He bends down further and begins nibbling her inner thigh.

"Stop," she giggles, gently batting him away. "I wouldn't let you do that in the back of a cab."

"You would if you knew how good I am," he counters smugly, but straightens to sit back up beside her again.

It isn't long before they reach Barney's apartment building. He opens the car door reluctantly and after sliding out thinks better of it, turning back around for one last shot at her coming up with him.

Robin smiles at his reluctance to leave her. She's even drunk enough to throw her arms around him and hug him goodbye.

The hug quickly turns into an embrace as Barney leans down into the car. "You could come upstairs," he offers enticingly. "I could do it there."

It's on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but even drunk she knows she can't allow herself to. "I can't tonight," she teases factitiously. "I've got a head ache."

"So do I."

She giggles again and her arms go up to encircle his neck.

Barney wraps his around her waist, pulling her in against him. "I think you do have an ache, but it's a lot further south…."

Robin glides her hands down to his lapels. "Thankfully, I've got just the devise at home that'll help me with that."

"Yeah, but I can go all night and _I_ don't need batteries."

"Goodnight, Barney," she laughs, using his lapels to shove him out of the car.


	27. American Thanksgiving

The next morning, Robin wakes up with a killer headache and a distinct sense of anxiety about the events of the night before. Motivated by lust, jealousy, and in no small amount by drunkenness, she was nevertheless the instigator of her and Barney's strip club encounter. _She_ was the one angling for them to get physical last night – and that knowledge doesn't sit well with her. In fact, it's truly troubling, a little frightening even. So much so that by lunchtime she decides a bit of setting the record straight is necessary, if only for her own peace of mind.

Hiding out with a grilled chicken salad in her dressing room – door firmly closed – she begins what she knows will be an awkward call to Barney in order to clear the air. "Are you still hungover?" she asks once he's on the line, though he doesn't sound it at all.

"Please." He dismisses the notion with a chuckle. "I don't get hungover. I have a cure for that."

"Let me guess, sex?" she replies, chagrined despite herself at the thought of him hooking up with some woman after he left her last night.

However, he answers, "This one surprisingly doesn't involve sex."

Still, the fact that it was even a consideration spurs Robin on. "Well, speaking of….from what I recall of last night, there was a moment when you asked to – "

"Give you oral pleasure?" Barney finishes, a teasing smile in his voice.

"Yes. And I believe banging against the wall was mentioned too."

"Hm, yeah, I remember that."

"Um….I hope that was just the booze and the strip club talking. It – it was for me," she claims, but stammers tellingly. "Because you know we've talked about this, how we can't. It would just be a bad idea and – "

"Robin, I know," he gently stops her. "And I agree; thoughtlessly, drunkenly banging each other would be a bad idea." He was actually going to call her after work to have this conversation but she beat him to it.

He's been thinking a lot about what James said on Sunday, and all that thinking came to a head when he woke up this morning and remembered what almost happened between them the night before. He still doesn't know if the two of them sleeping together is a good idea or a bad one but he's pretty sure if they keep hanging out it's going to happen either way, and James was right about Robin. If she's going to remain a part of his life – and if he has anything to say about it she will – then the gang is going to have to meet her sooner or later. There's no keeping them apart forever, and he's starting to feel increasingly selfish doing so.

His brother was onto something when James accused him of wanting to keep Robin all to himself. There's an undeniable, though humiliating, security in being her only option. After all, you don't have to fear not being picked when you're the only choice. But that isn't fair to Robin, who's still relatively new to the city and could use the friendship Ted, Marshall, and Lily have to offer. He knows because _he_ was once the outsider.

Barney went round and round these things this morning and came to an ultimate conclusion. Because when he suggested The Lusty Leopard last night he honestly didn't have anything untoward in mind – when they're this attracted to each other it just keeps happening on its own – and he needs her to understand that while he'd still very much love them to be more than merely platonic he also wants her to be more than just his sexy buddy. He wants to show her that now.

"But I've been thinking…..I'd like you to come meet my friends."

"Really?" It's all Robin can think to say, and she tries to keep the hopefulness from her voice.

She doesn't know too much about Barney's group of friends, beyond James. She knows he has a bro with a serious girlfriend who he claims is always trying to mother him, and she knows from Barney's Slutty Pumpkin story that there's a least one more bro in the mix. Other than that he's kept information close to the vest and never once invited her to talk to, meet, or hang out with them in any capacity.

She never liked to admit it to herself but it kind of made her feel like another of his one-nighters. For Barney, the world of caring, friendship and loyalty never collides with the flock of women he amasses just for getting his cue chalked, and since he hadn't asked into that first group it made her feel like she belonged to the latter. But the fact that he's actually invited her to step into his world of yet-nameless-to-her friends means he _does_ hold her on par in their same category. It's a thought that makes her rather warm and bubbly and giddy inside despite the remnants of her headache – and it's all the more reason why they can't trip up and make any chemistry-induced mistakes that might ruin this.

"Yeah," Barney confirms, "I think it would be fun for all of you to meet." He believes their friendship is strong enough to withstand it now; at least he hopes it is. "They're not anywhere near the same level of coolness as me and you, but we're sort of like a family. And it will give you some place to go for Thanksgiving other than a strip club – though I disagree that it's a 'grim scene'," he mischievously adds.

"You want me to come to you guys' Thanksgiving dinner?" Robin repeats incredulously. It was a big deal just having the offer extended to join his tightknit group of friends, but to jump right in on a holiday? This is _huge_.

"Don't worry," he laughs, "it's nothing too fancy, and just people our own age – no old grandmas or screaming toddlers underfoot. Just turkey, mashed potatoes, beer, and pie. I don't know what _your_ people typically eat on your busted-ass version of Thanksgiving, but – "

"Actually, that sounds great," Robin interrupts him with a grin before he gets going.

"Perfect." He's filled with a happy relief; Barney's not quite sure why, but his heart starting ponding and his palms began sweating waiting for her answer. "How about I pick you up tomorrow at 1? We usually eat dinner around 3; that gives us time to digest, and there are some of us crazy enough to hit up the sales that night."

He figures picking her up rather than meeting her there is a safer bet. That gives him the whole ride over from Brooklyn to explain to her why this is the first she's finding out that his friends live right above the bar – a conversation he also figures is better having outside of those friends' earshot. Plus, it gives him time to think up an answer.

"Alright," Robin smiles. "I'll see you then."

And it feels auspiciously like they just made a date.

* * *

Once he gets out of work Barney heads straight for the apartment to inform Lily of this new little change of plans. Hopefully she'll take it well. Lily always _claims_ to want another woman in the group, yet she's overtly suspicious and hostile of interlopers, particularly at "special events". Then again, said interlopers have always been Ted's flavor of the month, so he can't really blame her there; it's a known fact that Ted has terrible taste in women.

When he arrives, Barney waltzes through the unlocked door – no knock – as usual and is pleased to find Lily flitting about the dinner table, seemingly by herself. He had a feeling he'd catch her getting things ready for tomorrow. "Where are Ted and Marshall?"

"Marshall forgot to buy the rosemary so I sent them back out to find some. Good luck on the night before Thanksgiving," she snickers. "They're libel to be out all night, but he knows he's not allowed in bed till he brings some home."

"And Ted wonders what Marshall sees in you." Lily just glowers at him genially. "Actually, I'm glad I caught you alone. As sort of the hostess of this thing tomorrow, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"No, we are not having a turducken," Lily heads him off. "Ted already tried that one on me."

"No. I don't care what we eat. I mean, it better be gourmet quality and on my plate by 3, but other than that…."

"I'm not your maid, Barney."

"This isn't about the food. I have something of a confession," he begins soberly.

"_Ooh_, in that case, tell me more."

"Back on the night Marshall almost blinded you, the same night Ted refused to come bro out with me...well, I kind of met a new bro." Barney's eyes skirt to the side guiltily. "And we've been broing out ever since."

"So _that's_ why you've been acting shady lately and mysteriously taking off all the time!"

"Yeah…."

"Why didn't you just say something? You didn't want to hurt Ted's feelings?" Lily guesses.

"Something like that….But listen," he hurries on, "the thing is, I invited her to Thanksgiving dinner with us. It's just, she's kind of new to the city and – "

"Wait a minute," Lily stops him. "Your new bro is a _she_?"

"Yes." Barney shrugs, making as if he can't fathom her astonishment.

"You've been broing out for three months _with a girl_?" she emphasizes in amazement.

"Yeah, _and_? You have to be progressive-minded, Lily, and not hold her gender against her. After all, you're a woman too." He smiles, patting her shoulder patronizingly.

"Oh, come on, Barney. This isn't about me holding her gender against her. It's about you holding _yourself_ against her. You've never brought one of your women back to us." Lily narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Unless it was part of some play. Are you doing one of those elaborate, long plays again?"

Barney's eyes roll upward and he sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "She's not one of my women."

"But you said you've been hanging out for months. This has got to be the longest you've ever slept with one woman."

"We're _not_ sleeping together," Barney declares in frustration. "We never have. I don't know why it's the automatic assumption that if I know a woman than I must be sleeping with her."

Lily gives him a '_really_?' look.

"Okay, I _know_ why that's the assumption," he grants. "But that's not what's happening here."

"Alright, just to clarify, this is a woman who you've been seeing for months, and you're _not_ sleeping with her? _And_ you want us to meet her? At a holiday dinner…..Ohhh," she says like it finally makes sense to her. "Is she a lesbian?"

"What? _No_, she's not a lesbian. Look, Lily, you don't have to get all catty just because you're jealous that I have a bro on the side."

"So she's not a lesbian, but you still haven't slept with her? Is this like a Make-A-Wish type thing? Does she have a hunchback? What?" Lily struggles to understand it.

"No. None of that," Barney answers in exasperation. "She's just a normal person who happens to also be a _smokin'_ hot woman. What's so weird about that?"

"For you? Everything."

"I'm friends with you and you're a girl," he points out.

"Yeah but there's Marshall. There has been ever since you met me. You've only known me as 'Marshall's girlfriend'. Otherwise it might be different between us too."

He smirks. "So what you're saying, Aldrin, is if Marshall _wasn't_ in the picture, we – " He gestures back and forth between the two of them. " – would be sleeping together?"

"Well, you would have _tried_."

"Hey, I gotsa hit it and quit it," Barney shamelessly owns it.

"Exactly," Lily pounces, shoving her finger in his face. "_Quit_ it. Once you've hit it, you immediately quit it."

"So then if there had been no Marshall and you and I had somehow slept together, you wouldn't still be friends with me right now?"

"Probably not, no," Lily easily replies. "Not that it ever would have happened in the first place," she snorts. "Your calves are way too skinny."

He gives her a sidelong look. "The point is I haven't slept with either of you, so it doesn't matter. We've never hit it, so I don't have to quit it."

"But you still want her to come to Thanksgiving dinner with us?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Why not? You'll love her."

He's not only bringing this woman into the gang but talking her up too? It doesn't take a mind half as devious and discerning as hers for Lily to realize there's something to this; she was right about a disruption in the force.

"Alright, Barney. Absolutely. Bring your girl."

"My _bro_," he corrects.

But it's no use. Lily knows there's no way Barney Stinson is just hanging out with a woman, a woman who he admits is 'smokin' hot', platonically for this length of time _and_ wanting to introduce her to his friends, without there being more to it – like some very un-Barney-like feelings involved. And Lily, for one, is thrilled at the thought of it.

* * *

By mid-morning Thanksgiving Day everything is all set, and Barney and Robin have a general air of excitement about them as they each get ready for the day. But just as he's switching off the TV preparing to leave – watching the image of Macy's Santa go blank – Barney receives a call.

Assuming it's Robin, he answers without checking the ID. "Just be patient, Scherbatsky. I know what they say about holiday sex, but there's plenty of time to do it in the car on the way over."

"Stinson, this isn't one of your bimbos," Arthur's voice comes through loud and clear. And Barney can already tell he's in authoritative mode.

"Sorry, sir."

"You don't have to 'sir' me. After today, you'll be calling me Hobbs."

That gets Barney even more on alert. "Why? What's happening today?"

"Only the bust you've been planning for a decade."

"_Today_? You said it would still be a couple weeks at least."

"We have to move quickly. We intercepted intel that there's a high-level executive meeting happening at GNB as we speak. On Thanksgiving." Arthur pauses, letting that sink in. "We both know the big money suits would never be working on a holiday unless it was something significant. We think they may have gotten word that we're on to them, maybe are even suspicious we've planted moles. It's not ideal in terms of preparedness, but it could blow the investigation if we don't pull the trigger now. Thanks to you and the Costa Coffee folder, we finally have the necessary evidence to do so. We've got enough men coming in to do this without you, but I thought you'd want to be there."

"Uh, yes. Yes, of course. I'll be right in."

Barney's mind is whirling as he ends the call and scrolls through his contacts to pull up Robin's number. The fact that all of his professional ambitions are about to be realized and his revenge plan _finally_ completed leaves him feeling stoked and wired. But at the same time there's an indisputable sense of disappointment at missing Thanksgiving dinner with Robin that leaves him befuddled. That should be the last thing on his mind at a moment like this. He should be feeling nothing but on top of the world!

He shakes himself out of it, sending the call. "Robin, hey," he says when she answers.

"Hey, are you on your way?"

The happy anticipation in her tone causes another pang of regret in him that really shouldn't be there.

"I'm wearing that cream blouse you like under my blazer. You know, the one that's kind of see-through in the right light and dips down low in the front?"

"I'm sorry I won't be able to see it," he says, genuinely bummed about it.

"What do you mean?" Robin laughs.

"Thanksgiving is off."

"Oh." Disappointment and hurt feelings sting her at the letdown, but she recovers quickly. "Oh, that's okay. It was super last minute, and I realize not everyone likes their holiday getting crashed by someone they don't even know."

"No, it's not them. They're still having dinner. _I'm_ the one who can't come," Barney tells her. "You remember that case I told you about? Well there's finally been a break in it, and as a supervisor I got called in."

Robin is relieved to hear it's not that his friends vetoed her, or Barney decided at the last minute she wasn't worth them knowing her. Her voice somewhat brightened, she replies, "This is a good thing, right? I know you said you've been working really hard on it."

The tenderness in her tone touches him more than it has any right to. "It's a great thing, Scherbatsky," he sweetly returns. "Just sucky timing."

"But that's okay; like I told you, Thanksgiving here isn't a big deal to me. And there's always another night to meet your friends. You go do what you've got to do. I'll be alright."

"We're absolutely going to raincheck this," Barney swears. "We'll all get together next week, I promise."

"Sure, that'll be fun."

"I'll call you later tonight, okay? Maybe if it doesn't go too late I can swing by and grab us some leftover turkey to share."

"That sounds great, Barney," she smiles. "Really, don't worry about me. Go do your banker thing," she teases him.

"I am _not_ a banker," he protests, falling easily into what's by now become a cute little thing with them.

"Show me some proof and then we'll talk," Robin playfully retorts.

"One day I'm going to take you up on that," Barney vows. "For now, I've gotta run."

And as he jumps into the waiting town car, her words of encouragement ring in his ears: "Go get 'em, Barney."


	28. Bust

**AN:** Sorry to leave the story hanging for so long. That was not my intention, but my laptop broke very suddenly and put a temporary end to writing. I've finally gotten a new one and transferred everything over so my stories can return again! This chapter picks up right on that same eventful Thanksgiving Day.

* * *

**Bust**

* * *

There's a lot on Barney's mind as he makes the commute to the apartment a good nine hours late. The FBI bust was an enormous success. Greg will be going to jail for a long time and GNB will finally be a safe place to work for the hundreds of decent people he's met over the years in their employ. He has much to be proud of on a personal and professional level. He should be celebrating the victory, but his thoughts are far too consumed with all that happened _after_ the raid.

New assignment.

West Coast.

Several months.

Arthur's words keep swirling around in Barney's head, making both his mind and body restless in the backseat of Ranjit's town car.

For the first time in a career he never intended on getting into in the first place he'll be working a case he has no private connection to. Will he have that same tenacious drive when the stakes aren't personal? He honestly doesn't know.

Where does he go from here?

It's a question he doesn't have an answer to. But it looks like he has several months to figure it out.

Los Angeles.

How can Barney Stinson live in _Los Angeles_? The thought makes him shudder.

There are many, many reasons not to like his new assignment. He's a New York man, born and bred. He loves East Coast life. He loves this _city_. Everything he values is here: the gang, his mom, The Fortress, The Lusty Leopard, his usual cigar club and laser tag arena. Everything about his routine and established pattern of life is tied up in the Big Apple.

But none of that even hits him initially, and truth be told that hasn't been what's plagued him ever since. His first and still pressing thought upon hearing his new assignment is that it will take him away from Robin.

He'd been so excited to finally nab Greg that he hadn't seen the forest for the trees. It never once occurred to him what would come next and the very real possibility that 'next' could take him outside of the city and away from everything he loves – er, has grown used to.

But such is life, or at least happiness. If there's anything he's learned from his it's that happiness is a temporary, transient state that never lasts long.

Maybe this time it's his own fault. He already had a great hand going and then he pressed his luck hoping for more. But you never hit at twenty, and now he's gone bust.

* * *

When Barney finally arrives at the apartment the gang literally talk over themselves in their eagerness to tell him what he missed. It turns out Barney and Robin absence turned the dinner into a more informal, intimate affair – just Lily and Marshall and Ted, as it had been in the good old college days.

"Right as we were sitting down to dinner," Marshall excitedly takes over the story, "Lily surprised me."

"Against my every impulse I made him his family specialty."

"The famous Eriksen Family Seven-Layer Salad," Marshall puts in, beaming.

"Yes, complete with sixteen cups of mayonnaise along with a gummi bear _and_ potato chip layer," she informs Barney with a shudder. "I thought that _can't_ be right, but it turns out it was."

"It didn't quite taste like my mom's, but I love her for trying. So much," Marshall goes on, "that I couldn't wait any longer."

Lily whips her left hand from behind her back. "Marshall proposed!" she exclaims, shoving her ring clad finger into Barney's line of sight.

"Yep," Ted chimes in, much less enthusiastically, from his place in the red chair. "He did. Right at the dinner table. Right in front of me. And then they proceeded to have celebratory sex on the kitchen floor as if I wasn't right in the next room. A room with no door in between, I might point out."

"To be fair," Lily defends, "you did go into your bedroom and close the door the moment Marshall's pants came off." She shrugs. "And it's not like you haven't been there before when we were doing it."

Marshall turns to her, disbelieving. "When was this?"

"I've told you, Marshall," Ted sighs. "The _whole_ bunk moves."

Marshall has the Midwestern good manners to look sheepish. Lily's expression, on the other hand, shines with pride. "There's something kind of beautiful about it coming full circle," she coos to him as they sit down on the couch together, Lily practically in his lap.

"Like it was all meant to be," he smiles.

"From consummation to engagement."

"Yeah. Engagement," Ted mutters.

"_Engagement_," Lily sighs, leaning into her fiancée. Soon the pair start making out.

Ted shakes his head, glancing up at Barney. "It's just you and me now. That's what my life has come to…." He looks positively forlorn about it.

Barney chooses to ignore that, focusing instead on the happy couple who've by now come up for air. "Congratulations," he tells them, and they grin blissfully to each other. "Marshall, you now know where the rest of your lays are coming from, from now until eternity."

"Awww, Lilypad," Marshall murmurs, rubbing his nose against hers.

"No." Barney grimaces in disgust. "I don't think you heard me. Lily is now the _only_ woman you'll ever have sex with – _until_._ you_._ die_."

Marshall chuckles patiently at his friend. "She already was. The only woman I ever will and ever have had sex with."

"That's just sad," Barney says, shaking his head. "Where does that leave you?" he asks, finally turning his attention to Ted. "All three of you are just hanging out here after the wedding? Talk about your third wheel."

"We haven't discussed how the living arrangements will work," Ted slowly admits. "We left that for Future Ted and Future Marshall to decided." Now that it's actually upon them, he considers it with an ominous expression. "Maybe that was a bad idea…."

"Ya think?" Barney mocks.

"Obviously, we'll want a place for ourselves once we're married," Lily reasons.

"Especially when we start thinking about having a kid," Marshall agrees.

"Look, they're trying to get rid of my already!"

"No one's getting rid of you, Ted," Marshall assures him. "But you always knew I wouldn't stay single forever."

"And neither will I," Ted vows momentously. "This is a sign: no more playing around. That's it; it's time to get serious now. One of these night broing out with Barney is finally going to pay off. I'm going to get lucky and – "

"Sure you will, buddy," Barney interrupts encouragingly. "It's gonna happen for you one of these days. Don't give up; your first time is gonna be awesome!"

Lily snorts in amusement.

"Very funny," Ted glowers. "You know I wasn't talking about sex. I meant my future wife. She's out there somewhere and I'm _going_ to find her. Together we'll scour every bar in this city if that's what it takes."

"Ted, I've gotta be honest," Lily butts in, "I'm a little worried about your insistence that your future wife and mother of your children is spending her every night at a bar."

"Why not? We do."

"That's not true…" She hesitates, looking toward Marshall. "Not anymore." Then glances up at Barney's raised eyebrow. "Not _every_ night."

"Well, where else am I going to find her?" Ted disputes. "The Renaissance Fair isn't in town until June, and The Platinum Rule eliminates the office."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Barney allows, "but it might be time to start breaking that one, Ted. You need to get out of this – " He gestures his hand at a simpering, snuggling Marshall and Lily. " – as soon as you can. These two are going to be in couples' coma for the next few weeks, holed up in the apartment alternating between sleep and sex. It's not a pretty sight."

Ted groans in despair but ultimately decides, "Maybe that part's for the best anyway. Lily can be a tad judgmental about the women I pick. Meanwhile, your only requirement is 8 or above."

"Easy there, Mr. Optimistic. For you, it's a 6 or above. But I won't be there either. That's actually what I came here to tell you guys. The work emergency I got called in for – "

"On Thanksgiving no less," Lily grumbles. "Heartless corporate America."

"Exactly," Barney nods. "America is awesome. Too awesome not to properly honor our holidays with the very biggest of capitalist tributes. We just finished a huge corporate takeover. Multimillion dollar deal. And now I'm off to L.A. to oversee our next takeover. This one is multi_trillion_ dollar, so naturally they had to send in the best." He clicks his tongue, straightening the knot of his tie.

"Aw, man! GNB has the worst timing!" Ted bemoans. "Well….I guess I can wait a week. But that's _it_. I'm not getting any younger. Project Wife can't wait forever."

"Oh, this isn't a one-week takeover. I'll be there for some time."

Ted throws his hands in the air. "Great. How am I supposed to find the One now? With you gone I'll have no help!"

They all respond at once: Marshall with "We'll help you, Ted"; Lily with "You know I love setting people up"; and Barney with "Yeah, if you really thought I was going to help you with that I question how well you know me".

Ted gives a heavy sigh, looking to Marshall and Lily in defeat. "Alright, fine. You two can help. But no couples' coma. I mean it. We start tomorrow. I need to find her. You guys are already way ahead of me. Future Mrs. Mosby and I have a lot of ground to make up if the four of us are going to have kids at the same time."

Barney reaches down and pats his shoulder. "Thanks, Ted. Now I know I won't be missing anything back in New York."

But he _will_, and that's why he still has one last stop to make tonight.

To that end, Barney stays with his friends another hour – after all, this will be the last time he's with them for who knows how long – then makes his excuses and starts to head for the door, stopping off at the fridge first to grab a Red Bull because it's been a very long day. That's where Lily catches him, stopping him in the kitchen before he can make his escape.

"Wait, Barney. Whatever happened with you and that girl of yours, the one we were all going to meet tonight?"

"Keep your voice down," he hisses, looking warily out toward the boys in the living room, now watching football. "I called and told her we couldn't make it, same as I did you….Why? You, uh – " His heart speeds up nervously, his eyes darting back out to the other room. "You didn't say anything about her to the others did you?"

"No," she reveals to his relief. "And you called before I got around to setting an extra place at the table, so the boys have no reason to be suspicious," she adds with a soft little smile.

He realizes then that she did it on purpose to protect what he'd told her in confidence. "You kept it a secret for me?" That's all the more touching considering it's something that's nearly impossible for her.

"I did." Lily smiles again, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly. "I thought you should be the one to tell them, make introductions and all that. It's up to _you_ when and how to share it. But back to my original point. Obviously the mystery woman didn't come. What I meant is, what's going to happen with her while you're in L.A.?" Her eyes broaden expectantly. "Is she coming with you?"

"Am I taking Ted and Marshall with me?" Barney scoffs. "Get your head out of your ass, Lily. This isn't sleepaway camp where I bring along all my friends."

"You might not bring your friends, but it's not unheard of for a girlfriend to come along when her boyfriend's job calls him away."

"I told you, she is _not_ my girlfriend," he reiterates, a trace of irritation beginning to creep into his voice at being cornered.

"And I'm not buying it. I've never heard you talk up a woman that way. Unless it's about one of her body parts and what you can do with it you never say anything about a woman at all. This one is special to you; I can tell," she brags with a grin. "Then you wanted to bring her into the group too? And you don't expect me to say something about that?"

"Lily," he sighs wearily, "I expect you to have an opinion on everything, all the time, always."

"Come on, just admit that she means something to you," Lily coaxes. After a moment, when he's still not budging, she adds sincerely, "It's only me. The others don't have to know."

"Psh, stop being ridiculous, Aldrin. You know I don't get smitten. I smite. If I'm lucky, right in the – "

"Okay. Fine." She shakes her head, giving up. "Be a pig. I don't know why I expected anything more….."

Her disappointment in him niggles at Barney's subconscious and is more successful in dropping his defenses and drawing the information out of him than anything else she could have done. "Besides," he eventually allows, averting his eyes from hers, "even if she did mean something to me – which she does _not_," he laughs nervously, "it doesn't matter anyway because I'm leaving for months."

"Hmm. That _is_ a problem," she acknowledges. "Long-distance is hard for any relationship, not to mention one that's just getting started."

"God, Lily, nothing is getting started!" he sputters in exasperation, running a hand roughly through his hair to ward of the disturbing combination of frustration and alarm her too-close-for-comfort interrogation has begun to set off.

Lily studies him with scrutinizing eyes and can tell this is more than Barney's usual deflection. He's really upset about this, and she suspects leaving this woman is bothering him much more than he's letting on.

"Well now, maybe that's your problem," she offers gently in advice. "Maybe you _should_ get something started. Maybe you should tell her how you feel before the two of you are separated."

"….Tell her I'd like a goodbye boning?" he says slowly, like he's sincerely considering it. "Nah," he dismisses a moment later, "I'm pretty sure she already knows that."

"I'm serious, Barney. Take it from me, you don't want to end up with dreams unfilled, all these 'what ifs' left hanging out there after you waited and waited cause you were too scared to go for it," she continues in increasing fervor, "and then you wake up one day and discover it's too late; your life is already set on a track that doesn't include any of those 'what ifs', and you may even _love_ that track, but now you'll never know what might have been or what _you_ could have been if you'd done things differently." Out of breath from her outburst, Lily pulls it together and looks cagily to Barney, expecting him to call her on it.

"What?" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, sometimes when you talk I just hear those Charlie Brown voices."

She rolls her eyes. "What I said, Barney, is to be careful. You don't want to have to live with all these regrets suffocating you."

"I've never been into the whole autoerotic asphyxiation thing, so suffocation isn't a big concern," he says factitiously. Then a smirk twitches on his lips. "Although there was this one time when I was with a girl who had 36Hs and I feel asleep with my face – "

"Never mind," she stops him. "Just have a good trip. Try not to get any douchier out in L.A."

"Please. I'm not Ted."

"Oh, Ted would never survive L.A.," Lily agrees. "We'd have a total douche zombie on our hands."

Grinning, Barney slaps her five at that.


	29. Saying Goodbye

It's well after midnight by the time Barney makes it to Brooklyn and Robin's doorstep. Thankfully, she lets him up, opening her apartment door wearing a fluffy fuchsia bathrobe.

She instantly notes the amusement in his eyes. "Hey, it's almost 1 in the morning. I figured you couldn't make it. Do you wanna come in or not?" she threatens mischievously.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "I want to come in."

"That's what I thought," Robin smiles and steps aside, letting him in before closing the door behind them both. She turns back around just in time to spot him giving her a onceover, his eyes following the bare length of her legs from where her robe stops just above the knee.

Unashamed at being caught, he leisurely takes in the front view too, feeling wide awake and raring to go now that she's standing before him, looking soft and warm and ready for bed. "I never would have pegged you for the fluffy pink type," he remarks as he continues to run his eyes over her curves.

His appreciative gaze makes Robin throb rather pleasantly beneath her robe, and she's suddenly reminded of how late it is, how alone they are…..and her bedroom just down the hall. "Oh really? And what do you see me in?" Her voice comes out deeper than she'd intended and naturally Barney picks up on it, stepping nearer.

"Preferably nothing. But if you absolutely have to, something black and lacy."

"How do you know I'm _not_ wearing that?"

She feels his gaze slide down to her chest.

"Cause I can see a peek of pink cotton with little white…..Are those – " He brushes aside her bathrobe's lapel. "White sheep hopping fences. Really, Robin? It's cozy, but not exactly your sexiest choice of sleepwear." Although, the tempting dip of the sheep nightie's neckline is trimmed in eyelet white lace, so there's that. Actually she looks extremely attractive in a sweet, girl-next-door sort of way – a GNILF, he decides with a smirk.

"Yes, but don't count out that black lace just yet. You can't see my panties," she whispers provocatively, fully aware it's a total lie; those are pink cotton too.

"We can fix that," Barney offers, reaching toward her robe again, and she bats his hand away like he knew she would.

"Hey, how'd things go at work?" she wonders. "Were you able to close the case?"

"Yeah, we were. Everything went perfectly. We couldn't have hoped for it to play out any better." And it's true; his time at GNB went out with the perfect wrap-up. All the bad news came afterwards.

"That's great, Barney. So…." She grins, elbowing him. "Did you bring the turkey? I know it's late, but a little midnight snack once and awhile won't kill you, am I right?"

He whips a Tupperware container she never even saw until now out from behind his back.

"How'd you do that?" she laughs and crosses into the kitchen. "I'll get us some plates. Do you like yours warm or cold?"

"Robin, wait."

"Ooh, good call. We'll have drinks first, then work our way up to the turkey." She flings open a cupboard, rummaging around. "I think I still have a bottle of twenty-one-year Glen McKenna in here somewhere."

"No, I meant – Just come here a sec. I have something I need to tell you."

"Okay…." Robin gives him a cautious half-smile as she puts the turkey in the fridge. "This sounds serious."

"It is. But before I start, you have to promise not to be mad at me."

She slowly approaches him in the living room where he's still standing beside the couch. "Am I going to have a reason to be?"

"Possibly," he acknowledges soberly.

"Wow. Barney Stinson is admitting to even possible wrongdoing? This _is_ serious. What? Are you secretly married?" She playfully moves in closer, tweaking the knot of his tie. "Oh, I know; you're gay and this is all a cover."

His eyebrow goes up at that. "How gay did I seem at The Lusty Leopard? You can't fake the rager I had; you felt it. Or do you need me to prove it to you right now? You know I will," he says, pulling her to him.

"That won't be necessary," Robin replies, wriggling out of his arms. "Cause the real secret is you're on the lam. No, wait! You really _are_ a vampire."

He gives her a look like he's just waiting for her to finish.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, getting serious now. "I babble when I'm nervous."

"You don't have to be nervous. It's not – Here, sit down." Barney takes her arm, guiding her down onto the couch where he sits beside her. "Robin, the truth is…." He hesitates, taking a deep breath before spilling the secret that's never before crossed his lips. "The truth is I'm not a banker."

"I _know_." She rolls her eyes, mistaking this for their usual shtick. "You're a financial and data analyst."

"No." He shakes his head at her misunderstanding. "I'm not that either. Well, not exactly. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The thing is, you were right about bankers not having partners." He catches her eye, carefully holding her gaze. "But FBI agents do."

Robin just stares at him a beat. Then she smirks knowingly. "Oh come on, Barney. Is this Patrice's doing? Did she tell you I have a thing for undercover FBI agents?"

"What?" he asks, confused.

"Just – " She holds up her hand, dismissing the mockery she's expecting at any second. "There's something about the combination of all that badass training with the professional exterior of suit and tie. Maybe it's a power thing? I don't know," she says defensively, "it just does something to me, okay? Like you don't have weird kinks."

Robin shakes herself from it. "Doesn't matter. The point is there's no use trying to run an FBI play on me." She laughs, tickled by his far-flung miscalculation. "I mean did you _really_ think that would work? You've already let me behind the curtain, remember? So you should know by now there's no way I'm going to buy that. Or were you hoping that because of my weakness the mere suggestion would melt my clothes off and I'd accidentally sleep with you before my wiser impulses took over?"

She looks to him, anticipating some kind of weak half-hearted excuse; she's honestly curious to see what he'll come up with. But instead he just gives her a teasing smile.

"All of that is excellent information to know, Scherbatsky, and definitely something to keep in mind for another night, but Patrice told me nothing. You can call her if you don't believe me. This is the first I'm hearing it. And as much as I love any insight into your sexual fantasies – and you're right; ordinarily I'd be keenly interested in using this to my advantage – I actually am being serious."

"You…." She blinks at him several times. "You are _not_ an FBI agent. You work at GNB. I've seen you going in there. Barney, I've dropped you off." But even as she's saying the words she realizes that with all of his extensive ruses, personas, and costumes he could have easily faked the whole thing.

"Oh god, that was all a lie, wasn't it?" she recognizes in growing agitation. "You just walked right back out again, didn't you?" Suddenly she's left wondering if anything about him is real. "Who _are_ you?" she asks, pushing back away from him.

"Calm down, Robin." His every impulse is screaming to take her hand and soothe her, but he knows from his FBI training that when a person is freaking out this way – as she has every right to be given the situation – any kind of physical contact can escalate things, making the subject all the more emotionally volatile. So he resists his need to touch her, instead speaking in an even, reassuring voice. "It's okay. I'm still Barney Stinson. Everything else you know about me is true. I swear it."

That has her down from the edge of panic, but she's still looking at him like she doesn't trust him.

"I know what you must be thinking, and I don't blame you, but I'm not some lying psychopath out to rape or murder you."

"If I thought that you'd already have a gun pointed at you," she tells him quietly.

"I don't doubt it," Barney smiles. "Look, I'm the same guy you've known all this time, I promise. I even _do_ work for GNB. I just happen to work for them as part of a covert assignment with the FBI, who are my real employer. Here, see for yourself." He pulls his badge out from inside his suit coat, showing it to her.

Robin looks from him to the badge and then tentatively reaches out for it. He lets her take it, watching as she reads and quickly examines it. "So wait, you really are being serious? Because if this is some kind of elaborate trick with a fake badge I swear, Barney, _I_ will murder _you_," she warns.

"It's not a trick. Think about it; doesn't it explain a lot?"

She has to admit he has a point. Maybe it wasn't fair of her to make such generalizations but from the very beginning she'd thought a career with 'the world leader of credit and banking' didn't exactly fit his personality. A simple finance job seemed too boring for a guy like Barney. Even working with the Peace Core in Nicaragua – a jarringly squeaky clean image from the man she knows now – was still an adventure. But once Barney told her that he's actually an executive at GNB, it made a lot more sense. Hiring, firing, wielding power and running the show? _That_ she could see him doing. And the corporate world did seem to suit him, pun intended.

Still, James as an associate he works closely with on an everyday basis – and who he keeps slipping up and calling his 'partner'? That never did ring true for the world of GNB. Plus, it would make everything Barney told her about his troubles at work make so much more sense now.

"So this case," she begins still suspicious but he can tell she's begun to believe him, "the one they called you in for – "

"On Thanksgiving of all days," he's quick to point out.

"It was actually an undercover operation?"

"It was the end of one, yes. The bust I'd been waiting ten years for. And we finally got those bastards."

There's no mistaking the satisfied pride in his voice. "Then you really are an undercover FBI agent."

"I really am." With a smirk, he adds, "No tipoffs from Patrice."

Barney waits patiently for her response, but of all the replies he'd been expecting what she says next doesn't even come close.

"_That_ explains how you got so good with a gun."

She's still holding his badge in her hands and now he notices her beginning to stroke her fingers over it, regarding him with keen interest as she considers this new information. Her lips part slightly as her gaze flits down then back up his body, and he watches as her eyes darken and her face flushes attractively. It's plain to see this revelation of his real profession has her turned on right now, true to her admission.

Robin leans in conspiratorially. "You always tease me about it, but do you carry concealed too?" she asks, eying his waist where she imagines a hidden holster or gun may be tucked away. "I bet you do," she says silkily and waves him off when he opens his mouth. "I know; I'm sure you can't answer that….."

She tucks her arms together in her lap like she's physically trying to hold her desire in, and with his badge still clutched in her fingers she presses her hands tightly between her knees, fidgeting next to him on the couch. "Did…." She bites her lower lip, giving him a sly, half-lidded smile. "….did you shoot anyone today?"

"Good lord, Robin," Barney murmurs. "I'm shooting _myself_ for not telling you this weeks ago. Just think of all the fun we could've had playing agent and witness."

Her eyes spark with excitement at that and she drops his badge into her lap to feel along his arms with both her hands. "Did you get any bruises?"

But then her brain catches up to her words and desire swiftly gives way to concern. "Wait, what am I saying?" Robin pulls back to study him more carefully. "You're not actually hurt, are you?" She runs her hands along his torso, checking for signs of a wound beneath. "Some friend I am. I didn't even ask if you got injured in the shootout."

"There _was_ no shootout," he retorts with barely concealed laughter. "I hate to burst your little lust bubble but it's nothing like that. I don't do dangerous full-on rescue missions; I think you may be thinking of Navy Seals. Yes, I own a gun, more than one. But I don't make a habit of carrying it. I specialize in reconnaissance and manipulation – my mind is my weapon – in corporate corruption and espionage cases. It can get dicey at times. We're talking insider trading, money laundering, fraud, embezzlement, racketeering, extortion, obstruction of justice: some serious changes. And we're dealing with shady people, people that don't want to be caught and will do anything to keep that from happening, including silencing those who pose that threat. Sometimes it _could_ include us, but it's mostly directed at other civilians who threaten to expose them. Since we make a point of doing just the opposite – maintaining the con and keeping their cover until the opportune moment – we're rarely ever in any serious danger…..You know, unless the thought of danger does it for you. In which case, baby, I'm out there risking my life every day," he claims, giving her a sexy wink.

"Um…" Robin brings her fingers up to rub at her neck as she struggles to digest all this. "Okay. Wow." Seeing his badge in her lap, she hands it back to him before the golden eagle perched over the black scroll of _Federal Bureau of Investigation_ can do anything more to her. "So James is in the FBI too?"

Barney nods, slipping the badge into his pocket. "James always wanted to be a detective. From the time we were kids, that was his dream. He used to devour _The Rockford Files_, _CHiPs_, _Moonlighting_, anything like that. To this day, Bruce Willis is the one celebrity he'd nailed if he could."

"Huh…from how you've described him I can see all that," Robin smiles. "But I'm sorry, Barney, I never would have considered you the aggressive, law enforcement type. Frankly, you seem more likely to be the criminal. And more a lover than a fighter, shall we say," she puts it charitably.

"Hey, I resent the implication there. Although you're right about me being one hell of a lover. I can be _very_ aggressive in bed, if that's what you want," he reveals roguishly. "It's something you'd well know and love by now if you'd ever take me up on my offers."

"Barney, I know it's difficult for you, but forget about your sex life for one second."

"_You're_ the one who brought it up."

She shakes her head, dismissing him. "You said it was always James's dream, but how did you get involved in this? I suppose it is 'saving the world' in a manner of speaking, but the FBI is a far cry from managing a coffeehouse."

She's right; his current career trajectory is far afield from what he originally set out to do. For a second he contemplates making up some lie to explain it, something that's a lot prettier than the truth. But she already knows about Shannon, and now she also knows he's with the FBI. She might as well hear the whole sordid story.

"The FBI wasn't ever my plan," Barney admits. "When I was a teenager, I wanted to run off and join the circus or become a Vegas magician. David Addison and John McClane were James's heroes; David Copperfield was mine. My mom convinced me of the impracticality of that. She had her heart set on me going to college, so I did. I wound up studying math and finance because I've always had a brain for it. I loved entertaining people but I figured if I couldn't improve their lives with my awesomeness and magicality then the new plan was to take all that expertise with numbers and parlay it into a career as an economist where I could help developing countries and better people's lives that way."

Robin considers that a moment. It's both admirable and it falls in line with what she's come to know about his philanthropy and secretly caring heart despite the way he now does everything he can to hide that part of himself from the world. Her main takeaway from all this is that it must have taken something cataclysmic to get him from there to here, firmly entrenched behind the walls of a callous corporate drone. Based on what he told her on Halloween, she has a sinking feeling of just what – or rather _who_ – that was.

"So I worked my way through college, dated Shannon," he inadvertently confirms the name Robin suspected, "and planned to join the Peace Corp. But that ended when I found out she'd been cheating on me. Turns out I kind of knew the guy, and – " Barney clears his throat uncomfortably, looking away. " – he, uh, did his best to rub it in. Let's just leave it at that. This guy, Greg was his name, worked at GNB way back when it was still AltruCell. I followed him there and happened to have the necessary qualifications to land a job. I didn't have any solid plan in mind. I just made it my mission to get revenge on him somehow, dig up some kind of dirt and get him fired, ruin his life the way I thought that he'd ruined mine."

And maybe there was an element of fasciation too; he can admit that to himself now. He was something of an anthropologist in those early days, studying Greg and guys like him – suited up bros after money and sex – to figure out what it was about them that made women leave men like him for guys like them.

"I'd only been there about a month when I discovered a whole lot more than just idle office gossip to put an end to Greg's career. There were illegal things, really _bad_ things," Barney emphasis without betraying the secrecy he's sworn to, "going down with the company as a front to cover it up, and Greg was a key part of it all. Whatever vendetta I had against him, I knew I couldn't sit on something that big. Six months earlier James had finished his training at Quantico and was a full-fledged agent by then, so I went to him with what I knew. That would have been the end of it except that with my skill set, an accounting and finance background, and the fact that I had already successfully manipulated my way into the inside as someone they fully trusted yet underestimated, it all proved too invaluable to the case. They ended up bringing James in but training me too, and I stayed on at GNB as a deeply embedded double agent. From that day on it's been my job to rise up in the ranks until I was at the executive level, with all the access that entailed, to gather the evidence we needed."

Hearing his story, a lot should be going through Robin's mind: Barney Stinson really _is_ a badass FBI agent; all of this was going on beneath her nose and she had no idea; Barney just pulled off a major international sting operation – and then came to visit her with leftover turkey. Any one of those thoughts would be appropriate, but none of them are what's striking her right now. What's stuck in her mind is the jarring knowledge that there had really once been a woman he cared for _this_ much.

Everyone has youthful ideas that change as they grow. His foray into love and relationships could have easily been a temporary youthful phase. This Shannon woman may not have been so special and important to him as it initially seemed. At least that's what Robin had settled on a month ago after she first learned of Shannon's existence. But what he's telling her now paints a far different picture, one that for reasons she doesn't care to analyze leaves her gripped with an unpleasant tension.

"So all of that happened, you became who you are today, you turned your _entire life_ around," Robin stresses, "all for what began as revenge on your ex-girlfriend's new lover?"

"It started out that way, yes."

His easy confirmation leaves her feeling deflated. "Wow," she says quietly, running a hand through her hair. "You must have really loved her."

"No, I just love getting revenge," Barney quips, following it up with an evil laugh. But she shoots him a look of skepticism mixed with disappointment and he finds himself dropping his usual front with a sigh. "Honestly?"

Robin nods.

"I _thought_ I did at the time. But now…I don't know." He shrugs. "It turns out I didn't even really know her, and how can you love someone who's just an illusion?"

He doesn't want Robin thinking Shannon is some looming presence in his life, some great lost love, the one that got away he's spent years pining for, because she's not. Maybe he might have thought that way long, long ago but he hasn't felt anything – for Shannon or anyone else – other than numb for many, many years.

"I was hurt, sure. I wanted her back, definitely. But everything that happened at GNB, even before the FBI came into it, it was never directly about her. It was always more about Greg, about the humiliation and finally getting some retaliation against all the bastards of the world who kept – " Barney cuts off, determined not to get worked up over wounds of long ago. "Sometimes you reach a breaking point where you're just not going to take anymore. Greg was mine. That's all there is to it."

"I get that," Robin grants. In fact, she gets it much more than he knows. After years of trying to please her father, she'd lived it herself.

"Then you just sort of ended up here accidentally. And all this time," she adds with dawning understanding, "you couldn't tell me the truth because I'm in the media."

Barney's brow crinkles. "No. That had nothing to do with it. _No one_ in my life knows I work for the FBI other than James. Not even my mother."

"No one knows but me?" Robin asks in surprise.

"No one."

"So…you're not allowed to tell them?"

Barney sees now where she's going with this. "I can tell a select few who I know will stay quiet. It's not that I'm forbidden from telling my closest friends and family. It just….complicates things." And maybe the truth about his job is just one more wall between him and the world. Because he's better off isolated than getting too close and winding up brokenhearted.

"But you chose to tell _me_?" The recognizable unspoken question is 'why'?

"You're shrewder than the others. And even though they've known me a lot longer, I think you know me better."

"You thought I was onto you?" Robin guesses. "I wasn't," she admits with a self-deprecating smile. "Well….now that the case is over and Greg's been arrested, seeing as that was the whole reason you got into this in the first place, are you still staying with the FBI?"

"I don't know. I'm still figuring it out. I spent years focused on getting to this day but I never thought much about what happens beyond it," Barney admits. "When I first took the job I assumed once Greg had gotten what he deserved I'd go back to what I originally set out to be. The problem is I'm not the same person I was a decade ago. That's what I mean about still being the Barney you know. The smooth-talking, hard-playing, suited-up businessman, it's not just an act. It's who I _am_. It's who I've become."

Robin detects a hint of apprehension mixed in with the usual smugness present whenever he talks about his lifestyle and she's quick to point out, "But the humanitarianism is still there too. I've seen it in you. And, you know, you could have just kept it a personal vendetta. You didn't have to go to the feds, but you chose to do the right thing."

"I guess that's true." He lets out a huff of ironic laughter. "Maybe as weird and as lame as it sounds, the guy I was before, Costa Coffee Barney, even pissed-off Revenge-Seeking Barney, FBI Barney and Playbook Barney, they're _all_ a part of who I am now."

"That doesn't sound weird or lame," she assures him. "It sounds perfectly normal to me." RJ, Robin Sparkles, Robin Daggers, they're all still a part of what makes up Robin Scherbatsky, no matter how many years removed. "I mean, isn't that what life does? You change and grow but keep some parts of who you used to be."

"Yeah but, truthfully, I don't think I can go back to the life I'd planned before and be satisfied with that anymore. And I know I can do real good with the FBI."

"So you're staying."

"But the other side of that is that I don't know if the same fire will be there for a case I don't have a personal stake in." A corner of his mouth twitches at the realization that he's just told her what he'd been unable to reveal to even James. He's never once spoken the fear aloud, but somehow with her it spilled out without him even giving it a second thought.

"Anyway." He shakes his head, shaking himself out of his pondering. "I need time to figure it out. That's why I'm going to take at least this one more assignment and see how it feels, see if I have the same dedication to it or if the corporate world is where I belong now."

"That seems like a good decision," Robin offers supportively. But there's a look in Barney's eyes that speaks of hesitation. It makes her suspect the answer to her next question, but she asks it anyway. "This new assignment, it's already been given to you? You already know what it is?"

He nods regretfully. "_That's_ the real reason I told you I'm with the FBI. Not because I was afraid you were figuring it out, but because you know me well enough to draw the ordinarily correct conclusion if I'd skipped town without a proper explanation. Only this time you'd be wrong, and I didn't want you getting that wrong idea and thinking I was trying to brush you off. I couldn't have you thinking I'd abandoned a bro. I wanted you to know it's not what I want, leaving." Barney scratches at the back of his hair somewhat awkwardly. "I just…I wanted you to know the truth."

Although her heart sank hearing the words 'skipped town' and 'leaving', Robin still can appreciate the gesture, the sacrifice he's made for her by letting down his guard and telling her his biggest secrets just so she wouldn't feel like he'd deserted her. "Thank you, Barney," she tells him with a gentle smile, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the answering curve of his lips before she hears the inevitable bad news. "Well…where are they sending you?" she finally asks and quips with a frown, "I hope it's not to Jersey. I hate a long commute."

"Los Angeles," he flatly reveals, carefully gauging her expression.

"Oh." Robin blinks three times in rapid succession. "_All_ the way across the country then." She takes an extended breath. "How long will you be gone?"

"It's hard to put a definite timetable on our kind of work, but they're saying around three to five months."

Absorbing this, "Huh" is the only thing that manages to fall from her lips.

"I know," he mutters glumly.

"Hey, listen, that's – that's not…ideal…." She trips up, struggling to get it together and be the supportive friend. It's not a role she's had much recent practice in, nevertheless she remembers it from back when. "But we'll make it work – and make the most of it before you go."

In other circumstances, Barney might be alarmed at the wave of relief that washes over him upon hearing she doesn't plan on dumping him over what could amount to a half a year absence, but at the moment he's simply too pleased to be anything but content about it. "So you're okay with being long-distance bros?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Robin laughs like anything else would be absurd. "It's gonna suck not having you around to bro out together, but we'll manage. I meant what I said though; while you're still here we've got to seriously blow up this town! We're going to do all the things we never got around to."

"Really?" he smirks, feeling good and light and happy with her so close beside him on the couch – and not abandoning him after all. "_All_ the things we never got to do?" he says with a playful leer as he reaches over and slides her hand into his. "In that case, let's take this to the bedroom right now."

"Barney," she protests when he makes as if to pull them both up.

"Okay fine," he relents, settling back down into the cushion and patting his lap, "the couch will do."

"I'm being serious," she grins. "How much time do we have before you leave? Two weeks?" The grave look on his face at her guess has her altering her estimate with a grimace. "One week?"

"Tomorrow."

"T-_Tomorrow_?"

"The new case starts immediately. I fly out tomorrow – " He shakes his head remembering the lateness of the hour. " – er, today – at 11am. I know it's short notice. That's why I had to come say goodbye before I go."

He runs a hand over the back of his head again, and it's obvious to Robin that he's just as disconcerted about this new assignment as she is. Barney came all the way out to Brooklyn at this hour – sacrificing packing time and sleep – all out of concern for her thoughts and feelings at the news, but what about _his_? So far she too has only thought about how this will affect her, but that ends now.

"Alright, well, this doesn't have to be as bad as it seems," Robin begins in an effort to cheer him. "Look at it this way, it means by the time you get back it will be spring. You'll get to ride out the entire winter in sunny California..."

She was just blindly grasping at the first positive thing she could think of, but saying it aloud it actually sounds pretty nice. "As a matter of fact, maybe I should come too." That brings his eyes to hers and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a slight tinge of pink blossoming high across her cheekbones. "Come visit you, I mean. Just a quick vacation out to sunny California. No big deal."

"I'd like that," Barney smiles. "But – "

"No! No buts," Robin stops him. "You're going to need me. For all we know L.A. might have never heard of laser tag."

His eyes grow wide. "Don't even joke about that."

"See, you'll need someone to help you teach them."

"I might," he concedes. "But I'll have to convince James to do it. You're not allowed to visit. No one from our personal lives can. Tom can't even come see James."

"Is that usual protocol? You have to completely cut off from everyone whenever you get a new assignment?" she wonders, ruffled at this new development and what it means for them.

"This is a first for me too, but as I understand it, no. They can usually work around it when it comes to key points of your identity and a few select family members, like James's fiancé. But this particular assignment has become a bit more complicated than a simple case of infiltration, gaining trust, finding evidence. They weren't sure if we'd be able to bring GNB in this soon so another team was all set, with _their_ details put in place, in case we hadn't been free," Barney explains. "It all came down to the wire too late to make any changes. That's why everything's so rushed and last-minute. It means going full-on undercover this time; we won't be Barney and James. They've prohibited any outside visitors as a precaution. No chance of slipups that way."

"Hm." Robin purses her lips. She knows he'll be lonely stuck in L.A. without his friends and family. _She_ would be. She already was before she met him, much more than she even realized. "Can we contact each other at all?"

"Only when I'm in the privacy of the apartment they've secured for us. I'll be in touch with the details once I get out there. It won't be anywhere close to the awesomeness of laser tag at midnight or closing down the bar," he acknowledges, "but it's something."

"Yeah, absolutely. And at least you'll still get the sunshine and warmth through the winter." He doesn't seem convinced so she hits on the one subject that's sure to perk him up. "All those blonde bikini-clad hotties pumped full of silicone, Botox, and liposuction just the way you like them."

"Ugh," he groans piteously, "don't talk about bikinis. You know that's a sore subject."

"Why?"

"Because I bare-pickled for you but I've still never even gotten to see _your_ bikini-clad hotness. And now I'm going to be gone for months so there goes that Christmas wish."

Her eyes gleam with laughter. "Under what circumstance did you think you were going to get me into a bikini during December in New York?"

Barney stops and thinks about it before settling hopefully on, "My hot tub?"

Robin giggles softly. "I'll tell you what." Standing up, she takes off her bathrobe and lays it over the back of couch. He's so engrossed in the sight of her in just that cute little pink nightie with the white jumping sheep that he almost misses what she says next. "As a going away present, I'll put on a bikini for you right now," she offers mischievously.

That gets Barney up on his feet. "Seriously?"

"_If_ you stay out here in the living room and promise to leave immediately after your perusal of 'my hotness'," she repeats in air quotes, mimicking his earlier words. "No trying to wheedle and sweet talk and charm me into taking the bikini off to sneak one in before you go."

A sly smile begins twitching at the corner of his mouth. "So you'll strip down for me – "

"Into a bikini," she makes sure to emphasize.

"Into a bikini," he grants. "And for this thing that I want you could have asked _anything_ in return, yet the one condition your mind goes to is that I'm not allowed to seduce you in your state of undress?"

Robin blinks, realizing he has a point, but she quickly recovers and opts to stir directly into the skid, owning it. "That's about the size of it, yes."

"That's interesting. Very interesting…." he whispers provocatively as he moves into her personal space; she doesn't step away. "You know, Robin, you can't seduce the unwilling. And come to think of it, it was _you _who brought up our last chance to sneak one in. A little subliminal desire slipping out there, huh?"

Barney brushes her hair off her shoulder to play with the strap of her nightie. Slipping his fingers beneath, he slowly runs the back of his hand down its length, stopping when he reaches the swell of her cleavage but keeping his fingers in place.

His teasing touch just shy of where they'd both like it to be is perhaps more tantalizing than if he'd actually cupped her breast. "On second thought, maybe you should stand all the way outside the apartment," she murmurs with a revealing hint of breathiness.

"No, I'll be good," he replies, amused, withdrawing his hand and taking a step back.

"You weren't the one I was worried about," she retorts.

Her tone and the look she gives him makes Barney's heartrate pick up and the warm pleasurable flush of wanting spreads through his body as he watches her disappear into her bedroom to change.

When Robin emerges a few minutes later, true to her word she's wearing a bikini – a black string bikini so scant it has him practically drooling. It's just a whisper shy of indecent, he muses in delight as her takes in the four skimpy triangles: one barely covering each breast, and the other two narrow scraps of fabric forming the bottom, held together by mere wisps of impossibly thin string.

He looks her thoroughly up and down and she can tell he's doing away with the bikini entirely in his mind's eye. Barney stands up off the couch as she walks closer. "Would you do a little spin?" he asks, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her ass.

"Hey, you're pushing it," she grins.

"You're right, you're right." He raises his hands in surrender. "It's just…." His eyes go traveling down her body again. "I love that you have the kind with those little strings at each hip so all I have to do is pull to – " His fingers are itching to do just that, so much that they start to reach out on their own. "You know what? Here." He flings the bathrobe back at her before shoving his errant hands into his pockets. "You'd better put this back on."

"Good idea," Robin mumbles in agreement, because she honestly doesn't think she has the resistance left to have stopped him.

Watching silently as she shrugs back into the bathrobe, Barney _really_ wants to renege on their deal. But when it comes to bets – at least with friends – he's a man of his word. "Well, a promise is a promise," he says leaning back on his heels. "Plus it's getting late."

"And you have an early flight." She knows it's time to say goodbye – it was her stipulation, after all – but she's not ready. "Here, I'll walk you to the door," she says even though it's only a few feet away.

"So…." Barney sighs once he's standing out on her 'Scherbatsky' doormat and she's leaning against the open doorframe. There's no smooth talk that can alter this. It's just a miserable situation, and for once he's at a loss for words.

"So..." Robin repeats with a grim smile, equally muddled. Eventually, she's the first to break. "This is so weird! I can't believe it's going to be months before we see each other again."

"No, it won't. Are you kidding?" he refutes. "We are going to Skype on the regular. There's no getting out of it, Scherbatsky."

Her smile brightens. "Once a week?"

"At least," he scoffs, and then considers it. "Just not on Friday nights." He frowns thoughtfully. "Or Saturday nights."

Because he'll be busy screwing random women, Robin's mind fills in the blank. Not that it bothers her. Not at all. "Oh totally," she rushes to agree. "Cause we'll both be getting our swerve on!" Robin exclaims in a slightly crazed, high-pitched voice. Then she raises her hand for a high five.

Okay, so she may be overcompensating a little. Luckily, though Barney gives her a slightly curious look, he doesn't call her on it as he slaps her five.

"Unless you want to get our swerve on _together_," he counters waywardly. "In that case, Skype sex is allowed _any_ time of the day or night."

Robin giggles, moving in for a hug. "I'm going to miss you, Barney." Once her arms are wrapped around his shoulders she turns her face ever so slightly into his neck, and his upper body shakes with silent laughter. "What? It's my last chance to enjoy this scent," she explains in playful defensiveness.

One of his hands glides up from her waist to stroke over the back of her ribcage. "Oh, so you're admitting it now?"

"Come on, who was I kidding?" She pulls back to smile at him. "We both know you smell incredible. You say it all the time."

He's about to respond when Robin's Chihuahua comes up to her, standing on its hind legs and barking to get her attention. She scoops him up into her arms and his tongue lolls out happily. Laughing, Barney scratches behind the dog's ear, taking ahold of his front paw. "Stay awesome, okay little dude? And make sure she's still having legendary times while I'm gone."

Robin sets the dog back down, smiling bittersweetly at the distinctly Barney way he just bid the little guy goodbye. Saying that she'll miss him is an enormous understatement. "Without you around times aren't going to be nearly as legendary." It's true. She remembers what it was like before she met him – basically all work and no fun. But that's just it; you need someone to have fun _with_. And now he's leaving.

Little by little, Barney closes the remaining space between them. He prides himself on knowing women. Body language is a dialect he is fluent in, and the warm way she's looking at him speaks of a shared longing she's feeling just as strongly. "They won't be for me either," he softly replies. "Stuck in L.A. without The Lusty Leopard. Without anyone to run plays with. Without laser tag. Without you."

He promised to be good, and a promise _is_ a promise. But it will be months before he can be with her again. Months before he gets to see that smile in person, his subconscious cries as his eyes fall to her mouth. Months before he has a chance to touch her. A chance like this one.

And he's taking it.

He brushes his hand beneath the curtain of her hair to cup her neck, stroking his thumb enticingly along the underside of her jaw as he moves in to kiss her. After months of longing he's finally about to taste her when at the last second she turns her head so he misses her mouth, catching her lower cheek instead.

Robin turned away from his kiss.

In a split second it sinks in, and what he experiences isn't thwarted lust or even straightforward disappointment at being deprived the chance to kiss her senseless like he's wanted to since the night they first met. It's not even the regretful frustration of when a potential conquest tosses a drink in his face or slaps him and throws him out because while rounding the bases he'd jumped the gun, making a slide for home a little too soon.

No, what he feels right now is the genuine sting of rejection.

He went for it, and she declined. She rebuffed his kiss, even a goodbye one. It seems he isn't as fluent in body language as he thought.

Robin doesn't want to kiss him. Oh, she may get an unintentional pang of lust now and then, but she has no desire to act on it.

Robin's simply not interested in him that way.

There it is.

The only thing more uncomfortable than that knowledge is the fact that it hurts.

"I had to try, right?" Barney plays it off, mask firmly in place, being awesome instead. "And hey, at least tonight I'll get to sleep knowing, you and me? Never gonna happen."

Robin shakes her head affectionately, going along gamely with their routine of him hitting on her and her rebuffing.

In reality, that's not why she'd turned away. She did it because she knew if he kissed her lips it would be over; he wouldn't be leaving her apartment at all tonight until it was time to catch his flight in the morning. As much as she wants that – and there's no fooling herself; she really, really wants that, a lot – she can't leave things that way. She can't become another one nighter for him before he leaves town. She can't run the risk of sex ruining their friendship, especially now with no time to repair it, just awkwardness and distance to put the final nail in their time as bros. So she'd stopped the kiss, stopped them from making a huge mistake, stopped him from walking out that door and never returning.

"Have a safe flight," Robin wishes him with a smile. "Knowing your luck, it'll be full of double-jointed stewardesses."

He grins widely, this time the one to give half a shake of his head. When she says things like that he has to marvel at her awesomeness, despite her rejection of him. "See," he says in mock tears, "you just get me."

"Bye, Barney," she laughs after him as he heads down the hall.

That wasn't so bad, he thinks climbing down her stairs. Robin came around to eventually believing him, and she still wants to remain friends when he returns – even preserve the friendship _while_ he's gone.

He revealed his biggest secret, actually let someone in, and it could've gone much worse.

Still, his life could be a whole lot better right now too. He has to move to L.A. in the morning, and he just struck out with a beautiful woman. He's off his game tonight.

Their last exchange runs through Barney's mind as he gets into the back of the town car. _I had to try, right_? Robin had rolled her eyes like she'd thoroughly seen it coming, like of course on his final night with her he'd make one last Hail Mary for sex.

The funny thing is, though he'd never admit it to a soul, when he leaned in to kiss her he wasn't even trying to get her into bed.

And that's the most disconcerting development of them all.

* * *

**AN**: I'm switching over now to my other Barney/Robin story so there will be a short break on this one now that I've finished Part 1 of this many-part story. Thank you so much for all your reviews and your patience during my computer outage.

**Coming Next**: Robin readjusts to life in New York without Barney, while the pair settle for broing-out over Skype. However, personal and professional struggles await them both.


	30. Long Distance

**Long Distance**

* * *

**December 3rd**

* * *

For Robin, December is welcomed in with a secretive message from some anonymous source giving her info on how to reach Barney and making it possible, just shy of a week after he left, to have their first long-distance Skype.

As soon as the connection is made Barney, looking handsome as ever, teasingly grumbles, "Finally!"

"What do you mean 'finally'? I only just got the call from some Batman type."

"Batman? Please, he's an Alfred at best."

Robin grins. "Oh, I see. You're the only Batman here."

"_Barn_man," he corrects, and she can't help thinking _God, I've missed this_.

"How's L.A.?" She's about to ask about the laser tag scene there when she spots him squinting at the screen. "What?" she wonders, then notices his line of sight is directed toward a point over her right shoulder. She looks there too and when she sees what he's seeing a hot flush of embarrassment spreads across her cheeks.

It's much later in New York than California so Robin was already in her bed when she called Barney. In her excitement to talk to him she forgot about the selfie of the two of them together she has propped up in a place of honor on her nightstand, but it's clear from the smugly pleased grin spread over his face that Barney recognized it.

"What's that, Scherbatsky?" he asks, knowing full-well what it is.

"It's nothing. I just found it on my phone the other day," Robin tries to downplay it. "I only printed it out because my hair looks so good."

"Your hair, huh?" he says, mischievous smile firmly in place.

"Yeah." She turns back to the selfie, exuding a self-confidence she's far from authentically feeling right now. "I mean, I look _hot_ in that picture."

"Yes, you do," he candidly agrees. "But that's not why you printed it. Come on, Scherbatsky; you don't have to play it off with me."

"What are you talking about? I'm not – "

"Here," Barney cuts her off, "let me show you something."

He pulls an iPhone from his pocket and she watches him quickly typing in his code before turning it so she can see that the password-protected inner wallpaper of his phone is a picture of the two of them in full laser tag gear before a match.

Because, as it turns out, she's not the only one feeling the void left when one's suddenly forced to do without their near daily companion.

"L.A.'s a long way away," is the only explanation he gives.

"Yeah…."

"So what's going on back home?" he changes the subject. "Anything new since I've been gone?"

"Not much," Robin answers in deadpan. "Sandy only asked me out for a night of sex – _on the air_."

Barney snorts. "I saw that. I couldn't decide if I wanted to high five or punch him. Then I remembered this is _you_ and I had no doubt you'd take care of the punching by the first commercial break."

"You know it," she boasts.

"I was a little worried about just how Canadian you'd gone, but I didn't see your name show up on any arrest reports…."

Robin scoffs at that. "After I flashed the gun in my purse, Sandy knows better than to mess with me. On the plus side, the network brass is worried I'll sue for sexual harassment so they're bribing me with my own story."

"Are you serious? That's great."

"I wish it wouldn't have taken that, but yeah, this is good," she replies, and he can tell by her expression that she's more stoked about this then she's letting on. "I get complete carte blanche on this, which means I'm finally going to get a chance to do something meaningful. And who knows? If it's good enough, maybe this could be the start of something."

"Are you kidding? You're gonna knock it out of the park," Barney assures her. "But if you're worried you could always go with that backlit white blouse thing we talked about; with a body like yours, that's sure to bring in the ratings!"

* * *

**December 11****th**

* * *

Robin made a point of texting him yesterday to let him know she'll be doing her story the following Monday so he can be sure to watch. Though Barney was never positive if she'd truly been serious when they agreed on their whole 'no talking on Friday or Saturday cause we'll be too busy banging' rule, he wasn't about to be the first to admit he'd enjoy spending time regardless of the day, and so had fully expected not to hear from her anymore over the weekend. That's why he's more than a little surprised when he receives an incoming Skype call from her just before noon.

He can immediately see she's in her "office" at Metro News 1, but that doesn't do much to quell the on-edge feeling that's settled in at her break in protocol. They both know they're only supposed to do calls of any kind during certain hours when he's guaranteed to be in the privacy of the safe house. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

Robin waves him off. "Nothing's wrong. Just – remember when you took me to the Hungry Hands shelter and I accidentally got us kicked out after I caught the director stealing all the good food?"

"How could I forget?" he scowls. "I had to spear trash on the side of the road because of it."

"As opposed to in the back of the club where you normally do that," she teases him.

"Very funny."

"Anyway, _that's_ what I'm doing my story on. It's all about charities that misappropriate funds, with an in-depth exposé on what's been happening at Hungry Hands."

"Sounds awesome, Scherbatsky," he tells her, genuinely meaning it. It's the kind of story he'd watch even if he didn't know her. Scandal, intrigue, fraud, just the kind of hard-hitting but still entertaining story she's wanted to cover. He's proud of her already before even seeing it.

"I wanted to wait until it aired for you to find out, but I was too excited because – get this – my bosses love it!" Robin gushes. "It's actually got them considering letting me do more stories like this. Can you believe it?"

"I can more than believe it. You've worked hard; you deserve this," he endorses. "I'm just glad my penis could help you in _some_ way."

* * *

**December 14****th**

* * *

Robin's face appears on his laptop and the accompanying smile on Barney's face is as automatic, natural, and inevitable as the sun following the rain.

"So did you watch?" she asks him straight away.

"Not only did I watch, Robin, I wholeheartedly believed those poor hungry bastards deserved a bag of truffles more than anything in this world. Between the two of us, maybe _you're_ the magician because your mad journalistic skills made me actually want to do something altruistic for once in my life."

He watches her give him that look that means she doesn't believe him.

"Just once? What about the – and I'm using your words – 'record number of monetary and grocery donations' you brought the shelter?"

"Alright, so maybe I did help already," he relents, "but your story was good enough to make it important to people who really didn't care before….and who weren't court ordered to be there."

"I hope so. I think it had an impact. My producers want me to start on another story, so it must have gone over well enough."

"Of course it did, this is just the beginning for you. But before we get into what's next for Robin Scherbatsky, journalist extraordinaire, we have to celebrate this most momentous of achievements."

He starts to dramatically raise his hands but Robin stops him. "Wait, there's more. That's not the only thing my producers told me after the broadcast." She tries to play it cool for a big reveal but her ecstatic grin gives her away. "The selections list was released tonight and I've been nominated for a LAM Award!"

"Did you just say a lame award?"

"_No_." She shakes her head with a smile. "A L.A.M. – Local Area Media Award – for my piece on Pickles the Singing Dog."

"I'm sorry, the what?"

Robin sighs. "Yes, he's a dog that sings – but he sings to sick kids as a therapy tool, so go ahead and make fun of that," she challenges. "You know what, I don't even care if you do; I'm too excited!"

"Hey, no need to explain yourself," he assures her. "You had me at singing dog."

"I only did the story to help raise funds to continue the Pickles program, and now it turns out it's gotten me my first nomination! The awards are in January. I – I can't believe this," she stammers. "This is _huge_!"

Barney chuckles from her infectious enthusiasm. "That's great, Scherbatsky. You're a shoo-in. I only wish I could come to the awards show as the hot date on your arm that you deserve, but I'll still be in L.A."

"I know," she frowns. "That part sucks."

"But….." To cheer her, he shoots a fireball from one hand to the other and then opens the fist that 'caught' it to reveal the word 'congratulations' written in soot on the palm of his hand.

"How did you do that?" Robin giggles.

"That?" Barney scoffs as if it's nothing. "I could do that by fourteen." He smugly straightens the knot on the tie he's still wearing since it's only ten to nine there. "I was the youngest member of the Staten Island Magic Enthusiasts Club."

"No, I mean how did you know about the award? How did you know congratulations were in order?"

"I didn't. It was supposed to be for your broadcast tonight, but now it goes double."

She smiles at that. "Were you really in the Staten Island Magic Enthusiasts Club?"

"Yep. I was famous for escaping from handcuffs."

"Handcuffs, huh?" Robin smirks cheekily. "Interesting. So a nerd club was the origin of all your kinks."

"You're one to talk about kinks…."

"Oh, you have _no idea_ about my kinks, Barney," she retorts with a temptingly enticing lilt to her voice.

His eyes spark and he gives her a look that warms her even through the laptop, causing tingles from thousands of miles away. "Your fault, not mine. I've offered to help you out with any and all of them anytime you want."

Before he makes any maybe-or-maybe-not joking allusions to Skype sex that she's sure to find disturbingly appealing, Robin asks as an abrupt segue, "How did you ever get into magic anyway? I know you've undergone a major personality transformation – "

"Into a guy you actually want to hang out with," he points out and notices she doesn't deny it.

" – but pulling rabbits out of hats doesn't seem like something that Tree Hugging Barney would be into either."

"Hey, no rabbits were _ever_ harmed during our shows!" Barney fervently objects.

"Still, at least joining the Peace Corp in Nicaragua is kind of badass. Card tricks? Not so much."

"I could show you some legen – wait for it – " A deck comes flying out of his sleeve toward the webcam. " – dary card tricks. And what isn't badass about _magic_? It's magic! I thought you loved my fireballs?"

Robin laughs heartily at his choice of words. "That sounds like you have a STD. And sure, your magic's pretty awesome _now_, but as a gawky starry-eyed teenager just starting out your shows _had_ to be pretty lame, Barney."

"Go ahead, laugh," he responds with put-on bravery. "Laugh like all the others. But those magicians pulled off the greatest trick of all: they accepted me," he says, his voice breaking.

Though he's making a joke of it, Robin suspects there's probably a great deal of truth to that statement and she defers. "Forget I asked."

"Because it's so laughable?" he deduces with just a hint of defensiveness.

"No, because all misfits _need_ to find some way of fitting in. And there's nothing funny about that." His way was magic; hers was her bubbly ultra-feminine alter ego, so she gets it more than he knows. "Magic seems as good a way as any, and now you can do some pretty neat bar tricks, so there's that."

They're both quiet a moment as he absorbs that, wondering for the hundredth time about the hidden parts of _her_ past. But it's easy to let it go for now when she was not only cool enough to let him off the hook on the whole magic thing but she also did it in such a way that built his ego back up in the process – a fact he's certain she knows. It's just one of many things he loves about her.

"So Pickles the Dog can really sing?" Barney says nonchalantly, both more than pleased to ignore the fact that they just shared a personal moment.

"Mm-hmm. The whole "Star Spangled Banner". And you'll love this," Robin reveals. "Someone taught him "Rock You Like A Hurricane"!"

* * *

**December 21****st**

* * *

It begins as a brusque _brring-brring_,_ brring-brring_ coming from the cheeseburger he's eating. Then in an instant Dream Barney is at the office, the ringing is coming from his pocket, and he curses himself for getting a call right as they're busting the guys he's spent the past month infiltrating and gathering evidence against. The ringing gets louder and louder as Dream Barney reaches into each of his pockets but comes up empty, until finally the noise stirs his subconscious enough to wake him up.

Groggy, he gropes for the real phone on his nightstand, as yet unable to open his eyes. "Go for Barney," he half slurs.

"Sorry to call so early, but you'll just have to tell whatever brain surgeon's lying next to you to roll over and go back to sleep," Robin's voice comes through. "I have huge news. Monumental. _Legendary_ even."

Barney's fogged mind is still confused as to why he's getting a real call from her, not a Skype as they've always done so far, and he's just beginning to put words together to make sense of what she's saying. Still, even through all that it's impossible to miss the stirred-up animation of her voice. "What's going on?" he asks, more alert now as he props up on an elbow and pries one eye open. "What time is it? Where are you?"

"It's almost 8:15 Monday morning, New York time anyway, and I'm at Metro News 1. What's going on is Sandy disappeared over the weekend. No one could find him."

"Is he dead?" Barney guesses. The guys a known partier with a wild lifestyle and no shortage of enemies he's made along the way. Murder, overdose, industrial strength Viagra induced heart attack; they're all natural conclusions to come to.

"That's what we all thought at first," Robin admits, "but this morning we found out he quit just like that; ended a weekend long bender by taking a job at CNN."

"Sandy Rivers looking for fresh tail? That's not so remarkable."

"Maybe not," she allows, "but this is: it turns out my piece on Helping Hands was such a hit that _I've_ been promoted to lead anchor!"

"For real?" Barney perks up. "Robin, that's fantastic!"

"Isn't it?" she squeaks with happiness. "And get this; _Sandy_ recommended me too, even though I refused to sleep with him. I think he actually has a begrudging respect for me because of it."

"Wow, getting ahead on the strength of _not_ letting someone in your pants?" He shakes his head, befuddled. "I guess there's got to be a first time for everything."

"This is the most exciting thing to happen to my career since I got my first job as a cub reporter at Channel 22 in Red Deer," Robin gushes.

"Where?"

"In Alberta." But she's still met with blank silence. "In _Canada_," she finally clarifies, rolling her eyes at his accompanying "_Ohhhh_".

"I already know what my first lead story is going to be. Drumroll," she announces, performing a simulated one with her tongue and thinking for a fleeting moment that his theatricality must be rubbing off on her. "Unequal pay between the city's male and female workers. It's a hot button issue right now, one I can really get behind. And before you even start," she warns preemptively, "know that it's too early in the morning for me to listen to a list of all the things you'd like to get behind."

Barney cackles wickedly. "I wasn't going to give you one – but since you mentioned it, Scarlett Johansson, Kate Upton, J-Law, and you would top my list."

Robin hums, amused. "At least I'm in good company. Fourth, though…."

"I never said it was in that order. Your backdoor might just be the number one lucky recipient of Lil' Barney on my fantasy list."

"And I never said anything about the backdoor," she counters with a glower. "For the record, Barney, whenever I'm talking about 'from behind' that is _never_ what I mean."

"Spoilsport," he pouts drowsily. "But back to your first big story as lead anchor; with you doing the reporting, for the first time I may actually care about equal pay. And I'm a white man, so that says a lot."

"That's sweet," she says with a smile that resonates to her voice, "but only because I know you're lying. A guy who grew up with a single mom and a black brother never cared about equal pay?"

"Well, now I'll care even more," he promises to her happy laughter.

"Barney, you don't even know what this means to me! Lead anchor. _Lead_ – in New York City of all places! And these are the kinds of stories I've wanted to tell since I first went to journalism school."

"I'm happy for you, Scherbatsky." He laughs along with her around a yawn. "Still half asleep, but happy for you."


	31. Christmas Confessions

D

* * *

**December 25****th**

* * *

Robin clicks into Skype and Barney can immediately see the brightly decorated tree in front of her picture window and her little Chihuahua curled up sleeping beneath it, the terrier lounging by his side.

"Your present came yesterday," she tells him, indicating the gold wrapped package on the end table beside her.

"With the note not to open it until now, I hope?" Barney stresses.

"That too. I haven't touched it. Though I've gotta say, the fact that you want to watch me open it is a bit concerning."

"Not just watch; I have specific instructions."

"Okay…." Robin replies, her caution only raised. "Just so you know," she says, moving the laptop along with her to sit down on the couch, "I have a present for you too, but I was waiting till you got back to give it to you."

Barney smirks knowingly. "So we have to be in the same location for you to 'give it to me'? _Nice_." He clicks his tongue, giving her a lusty nod. "You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder and the girl grow hornier."

"Ew, and no. Your present's right here. Look." She brings it into frame so he can see the personalized laser tag gear with 'SWAT' emblazoned on it.

"Scherbatsky, that is awesome!" he grins excitedly. "Thank you."

"I didn't think you'd get much use out of it in L.A., but it's waiting for you when you get back. And before you ask, yes, I got a matching one for myself too."

"Good, cause Stinson's Way Awesome Team _has_ to suit up together. It's mandatory," he declares with way too much seriousness to be discussing a child's game. "Now go ahead and open your present."

She shoots him a dubious look before placing the box on her lap and tearing at the paper. Once unwrapped, she lifts the lid to discover a small square bottle inside. "Perfume?"

"Cologne," Barney corrects. "Specifically a bottle of _my_ cologne. One of the last things you said to me before I left New York was that you love how incredible I smell. Well, now you can enjoy it anytime you want. Just dab it anywhere you'd like me to have rubbed across." He smiles, his eyes sparking wickedly. "Go ahead, I'll wait. Feel free to pull aside clothing when necessary," he adds, looking keenly at the screen for any glimpse he might get. "In fact, I wrote a yuletide song especially for this occasion." He clears his throat and begins to sing. "_I wish I could see you naked, I wish I could see you naked, I wish I could see you naked and down on all fours_."

"Barney," Robin stops him sounding somewhat uneasy, and it sets off warning bells that leave him wondering if he's gone too far, "I have to tell you something…."

He can see she's hesitant to say it, making those internal bells ring all the louder. "Then say it already," he encourages, trying to give off a vibe of impatience rather than concern.

She takes a breath and then dives in. "While you've been gone, I started seeing someone."

The admission sets off a twist of jealousy that there's some other guy out there who gets to be with her – which is completely ridiculous since he spent last night getting laid by some blonde whose fake boobs were bigger than her IQ, his own special Christmas tradition.

On the other hand, he _has_ missed Robin more thoroughly and constantly than he's even prepared to admit to himself. But he quickly dismisses it as some sort of weird anomaly – probably from being overtired working so hard to get done as quickly as possible and get back home already – and covers it well to her. "You got yourself a bone buddy? It's about time! What's it been, two months since Mike?"

"No. That's not – "

"I'm sure it's been two months," Barney argues. "I distinctly remember when you called it off because you tried for a little rebound bang with me in your office at the Halloween party."

"Okay, _you_ were the one who dragged me into my office," she sets the record straight, "and I didn't mean 'no, it hasn't been two months'. I meant 'no, it's not like that'. He's not….He's my – " Robin stops short, not quite able to finish the rest of that sentence. "He's _a_ – " she tries, deciding it sounds much better with the possessive pronoun removed. " – a real…." Still, she falters again, clearing her throat before just barely managing to verbalize it. "…boyfriend."

Despite the fact that she sounded like she was half choking on the word, Barney nevertheless experiences a strong reaction hearing it from her, an instant pang of some odd combination of distress, dread, and possessiveness that's hard for him to classify but it's a definite disquiet of some kind. "I thought you didn't believe in commitment. How did that happen?" he asks, proud of himself for keeping an appropriately blasé tone.

"I met him at the bar a few days after – " Robin started to say 'after you left', but changes it to "after Thanksgiving", not wanting to draw any connections there. "I thought I'd found a new 'bone buddy', as you put it. That's what I was out looking for, anyway." She'd hoped if she screwed some guy's brains out it would lift her from the melancholy funk she'd settled into living in a Barney-less New York. "But he came on strong. _Really_ strong."

"What does that mean?" Barney probes suspiciously, set on edge by the way she'd said it.

"He told me 'I love you' on the first date," she hesitantly admits.

"_Woah_."

"Yeah. I know…."

Appalled, he asks, "Why didn't you send this loser packing?"

"I _did_," Robin counters. "I called it off after that. But then, like a week later, I ran into some friends of his and they convinced me it was a fluke. Barney, I _love_ his friends," she levels with him. "You would too."

"So you're dating this guy to hang out with his friends?"

"No. I didn't start out dating him at all. I just wanted to be his friend too….but – "

"But what?" he interrupts.

From his tone, it's clear to her whatever explanation she gives will fall short in his eyes.

"He wore me down, alright?" she answers somewhat defensively, and he notices the way she averts her eyes from his. "That kind of constant, unwavering attention is flattering. It would be for anyone."

Going by what he knows about her, the things she's told him about her past, it doesn't surprise Barney that she's the kind of woman who'd respond to having her ego stroked, but that still doesn't mean this guy is anywhere near approaching worthy of being her boyfriend – if she even has to have one at all. However, given her apparent sensitivity on the subject, he opts to stay quiet for now.

"Earlier this week, I came home and found him waiting in my apartment with a string quartet and a room full of roses and chocolates."

Turns out it's a short-lived quiet restraint because, hearing that, Barney can't bite his tongue any longer. "Wait, you didn't let him in but he was waiting _inside_ your apartment for you? Stalker alert."

"Really? You think so? I'm glad it's not just me," she responds, smiling for the first time since this whole boyfriend discussion began. "It may be sweet in theory, but isn't it also kind of crazy? But everyone kept acting like _I_ was the crazy one for not finding it adorable."

"That's not crazy, Scherbatsky. It's basic self-preservation."

"_I_ thought so, but his friends explained that's just how he is; it's harmless, it's charming. Patrice thought so too."

"Well, Patrice would."

"Yeah, but there was also this whole classroom of kids calling me an old maid, and then one of my dogs got into all that chocolate, I had to take him to the vet, and when I explained it all to her she saw it the same way as they all did. I said, 'A string quartet in my living room, who does that?'," Robin reenacts it, pulling the same sardonic face she had at the time. "And all dreamy-eyed she said, 'Exactly. _Nobody_ does that.' That's what made me realize, his kind of attention or feelings or whatever you want to call it, it's special. Everyone else could see that. I was the only one being blind to it and taking it for granted. I mean, like my vet said, it's something straight out of a romance novel, the kind of thing every little girl dreams about." She quietly adjoins, "Even ones who may have grown up a tomboy."

"Okay," Barney allows, "but you're _not_ a little girl. You're a strong, independent, adult woman capable of thinking for yourself. Little girls also find macaroni art, Barbie dolls, and boy bands adorable too – or whatever other weird crap Canadian girls like," he shudders. "The point is just because you thought something as a kid doesn't mean you still feel that way now."

"No, but…." She lets out a sound of frustration, not knowing how to put it to words, how to make him understand. It's been a month now, a _long_ month. He doesn't realize how much she's missed him, how lonely she's been without him around. It was all that loneliness that pushed her into thinking she should try the whole boyfriend thing again.

Not that Barney's why, her mind reticently baulks. Not that it's _because_ of him, because of wanting him back with her, because he means so much in her life or because she has some sort of feelings for him or something absurd like that. No, that's not it at all.

She misses him, yes, but that's only because being a workaholic doesn't work anymore now that she knows what it's like to have a life outside of work, now that she knows what it's like to actually have fun again.

She needs something more in her life now. And this new guy is what it should be. The verdict's in: he's the perfect catch; it's a universal opinion.

"Maybe that's just it, Barney," she finally answers as close to the truth as she can articulate. "I'm not some young, dumb teenager anymore. We all have to grow up sometime. Something like this, something secure and reliable and _regular_, this is what I should be doing at this point in my life. It's a step towards normalcy."

None of that sounds like a selling point to Barney, but he can see there's no swaying her. "Well then, good for you, Scherbatsky," he tells her despite the part of him that already strongly dislikes this guy sight unseen. "You're breaking the cycle. That's what you wanted, right? A _relationship_," he says through a grimace. "The dreaded R-word."

Robin shakes her head, biting back a laugh. "God, you're so dramatic."

"Drama is the spice of life," Barney shrugs shamelessly.

This time she doesn't fight the chuckle. "That's variety, dummy."

"That too. New _is_ always better. How many times have I told you that's what life is all about?"

"No!" she disputes, grinning. "You always do this! They can't both be it just cause you forgot the first one."

"What are you the flavor police? Geez, Robin. There can be more than one spice to life." He stops short, holding up a finger and nodding knowingly like he's just solved the puzzle of life. "Maybe _that's_ your problem. Maybe your life just isn't spicy enough."

"And let me guess, you're offering to help me with that? A man who can barely even say the R-word. Not that the R-word is what I wanted necessarily. I just wanted something casual but with the same guy." She wanted to feel a kind of connection, something she's been missing since Barney left. "But he doesn't do causal, and eventually they all convinced me to give this 'real relationship' thing a try."

"Hmm," is all Barney says in reply, not wanting to give this any more of an endorsement than he has to, and when they lapse into silence he blurts out, "Who is this guy, anyway?"

"Nuh-uh. No way am I telling you anything about him. If you so much as know his name you'll have him investigated, dig up all his dirt – or worse, you'll have him audited, or get him arrested for parking tickets, or _something_."

"Who me?" Barney protests, full of innocence.

"Nice try."

"Fine," he relents with an exaggerated sigh. "Can I at least have my cologne back? That stuff's expensive."

"Psh, no." She clutches the bottle possessively, giving him an outraged look. "You can't take back my Christmas present."

"Why? What are _you_ going to do with it? Now that you have a 'boyfriend'," he says in air quotes, "there goes my rub-on cross-country orgy idea, so what else is it good for?"

"There's got to be some kind of anti-play I can use it for, some way to blackmail you…" she contemplates. "Or maybe I'll just give it to the 'boyfriend'," she mimics his air quotes. "He's stopping by later." And her eyes dance with mischief for the tirade she expects to be coming from him at the very idea.

"Is he?" Barney says instead, then gets quiet and gives her this funny look. "Listen, from the one of us who's actually been in a relationship before – albeit a lifetime ago – just know it doesn't mean you have to lose your identity," he cautions her. "I was with Shannon for a year and I still stayed awesome."

Bringing up his almost-fiancée nettles Robin. Something about it distinctly gets under her skin. She puts it down to the hypocrisy of Barney Stinson lecturing anyone on how relationships should work. "Who said anything about me losing my identity?"

"Uh, maybe because he already morphed your opinion on what constitutes a psycho into suddenly being the perfect boyfriend."

She ignores that. "And you were a glorified Flower Child when you were with her," she scoffs, noticeably – at least to Robin's own ears – not saying her name. "Was that _your_ real identity?"

Her words hit their mark and Barney realizes for perhaps the first time that he really did transform himself to fit Shannon's mold. He went from a naïve magic diehard with a desire to help the world to full-on hippie-dippie in just the first few weeks of dating her. He wonders what that says about himself….but that's neither here nor there at the moment.

"That's still not an argument in its favor," he points out. "We both know how that ended."

It's Robin's turn to sigh now, only a real one. She expected Barney to be less than thrilled about this boyfriend thing; she was dreading telling him and that has to be why. But she honestly just thought he'd pout a little or make a few jokes about all the sex they won't get to have now. She didn't expect conscientious thought-out objections, and she can't quite understand all this negativity towards a guy he's never even met. Yeah, the whole "I love you" thing would be repellant to Barney, she knew that, but _he_ doesn't have to be the one dealing with it.

Then all at once she recognizes his opposition for what it really is: he's afraid if she becomes part of just another couple she'll outgrow him.

Now it all makes sense.

She just has to find a well of telling him that's never going to happen without hurting his pride. "Well look, you don't have to worry because this is still me," Robin conveys with a gentle smile. "You know me; I'm allergic to anything too serious."

"What about him?" Barney responds. "Does he know you?"

"He knows that much."

"Really? This guy who told you he loved you on the _first date_," he says, clearly still in horror.

"That's just how he is. He doesn't really mean it," she dismisses. "We'd only just met. He couldn't possibly love me."

"You know that and I know that, but does _he_ know that?"

Robin wants to answer 'of course he knows that', but the truth is she suspects he really doesn't. A look across a crowded room, love at first sight, destined to be together, the whole grand cliché; it's utter hogwash but, disturbingly, she thinks he actually does believe that about them. But that's his problem, not hers. "After seeing my reaction, at the very least he knows not to say it out loud anymore."

That answer doesn't exactly bode well with Barney, and in his silence Robin feels that.

"I'm kidding," she backpedals. "It's not like that; this is still very new. We're seeing where it goes, that's all. I…I just wanted you to know."

"….So I shouldn't expect any free peep shows?" Barney guesses, that puckishness she loves back again.

"You weren't getting those anyway." Robin smirks, he returns her smile, and for a second it feels like he never left, like they're back on Thanksgiving night all over again – just one look, one word, one breath away from reaching out and kissing each other senseless.

"Hey, seriously though," he breaks the moment first, "promise me you won't let him tame your awesome."

"Never."

"Good." And he nods, intending to leave it at that, but… "Although, I'm not sure I like the idea of someone else getting to enjoy all that Scherbatsky awesomeness while I'm stuck half a planet away," Barney softly reveals.

If she didn't know better she'd say there was even a tenderness to it, and in combination with the way he's looking at her it makes Robin feel a warm, melty, indescribable rush of…._something._ She can't put a finger on it, but whatever it is it's nice.

"You're not _that_ far away," she replies with a dazzling smile that feels like it's stretching through every part of her.

"I took you on as my pupil, spent months teaching you how to live, and now some random jackass gets to reap the reward?"

"How do you know he's a jackass?" Robin laughs.

"Please," he scowls. "Everything you told me about him screams it."

"No worries, okay?" she grins. "We're just having fun."

Now he does pout playfully, the way she expected before, and it works as a great cover for the distressingly real insecurity in his next questioning. "But not the kind of fun we have?"

That's the easiest question yet to answer truthfully. "_No one_ has the kind of fun we have," she rejoins with a teasing smile.

"Damn right."

"Here, let me show you," Robin says, her eyes sparkling. She picks up their team jersey still lying beside her and slips it on over her sweater. "See. Even with a boyfriend, me and you are still SWAT for life."

"Yeah we are," Barney happily agrees. "…..But you're _sure_ you won't tell me who he is?"

"Absolutely not."

And it goes on like this for the next hour.


	32. Secrets

Secrets

* * *

**January 1****st**

* * *

_U up?_ with a winky emoji.

The text causes a bubble of laughter as Robin reads it. _Why?_ she answers back, and a few seconds later Barney's call comes through on Skype.

"How's the new year treating you?"

"Pretty great, but that's not saying much seeing as we're not yet twenty-four hours into it."

"You almost are. What is it, twenty to twelve there?"

"Yeah. How'd you know I'd be awake?"

"Uh, cause you're not an old lady."

"Alright," Robin challenges with a sly smile, "how'd you know I'd be alone?"

"Basic Scherbatsky knowledge. I knew you'd be seriously hungover today – and I've seen you that hungover," Barney smirks. "Putting it charitably, it takes you awhile to recoup. Usually a full day to get rid of that headache. And I know you don't feel your sexiest then, so I figured you'd be tucking yourself into bed all by your lonesome tonight."

"Hm," is all she says, frowning.

"Am I right?" he grins, already knowing he is, but he still cackles gloatingly when she begrudgingly admits, "Something like that."

"Still, you didn't take enough pity on my hangover to let me go to sleep," she points out sarcastically.

"Please," Barney dismisses, "you're not even in your bedroom. And is that yet another glass of wine I see on the end table?"

"Shut up."

"For real though, how's New York?"

"Why?" she teases him. "Did you watch the ball drop and get nostalgic?"

"The only balls I saw dropping were mine into the mouth of this hot – "

"Okay, stop. I don't need the visual. I'm not even close to buzzed enough for that." Robin takes a sip of the aforementioned wine and criss-crosses her legs up on the couch. "New York's good. I'm good. Everything's good."

Barney scowls in disappointment. "That's it?"

She thinks about it a beat, then shrugs. "Yeah, that's it."

"Kind of a letdown, Scherbatsky."

"Sorry to disappoint. Am I your only source of news from home?"

He gasps in mock outrage at the insinuation. "That's rude!"

"What?" she laughs. "I didn't mean – I just thought since James is with you, you might not – "

"For your information, Ms. Sass, I have other friends. I was going to introduce you to some back at Thanksgiving, remember?"

"I remember," she smiles, flooded with an inconvenient warmth of happiness recalling their last night together.

"In fact, I just talked to my best bro – "

"I thought _I_ was your best bro?"

"Alright, best _guy_ bro – "

"That's sexist," she ripostes.

" – last week," Barney finishes, ignoring her.

"So these other bros of yours, you Skype with them all the time too? Suddenly I feel a lot less special," she says mischievously, if perhaps meaning it a little deep down.

"First, you're Robin Damn Scherbatsky; you should always feel special."

She bites her lip, beaming in response, though he isn't sure if she even realizes she's doing it.

"Second, I don't talk with them the way we talk anyway. We're at least three times a week. They're three or so times a month." Barney shakes his head. "But we're getting off track. My original point was this is shaping up to be a bleak January."

"And why's that?" Robin asks with an amused grin, eager for one of his anecdotes. It's silly how much at times she longs for his stories, crazy theories, and witty repartee. Having a scotch at MacLaren's just isn't the same since he's been gone.

"Everyone's pairing off, that's why! I've got a couple friends who're almost married, the aforementioned 'best guy' bro just got himself a girlfriend, and then there's you and your eternally lame lover boy."

"You don't even know him," she grins. "You two might get along, you never know. You'll at least have to be civil to him if you ever meet."

"Wait." And the playfulness that was present even in his grousing is now suddenly gone. "_Are_ we going to meet? I'm not back until the spring. Does that mean you're still going to be dating this loser then?"

"I….I don't know." She hesitates and he gapes at her in disbelief. "I like him, okay? He's a good guy."

Barney studies her a half second, his expression carefully held in check. Then, just like that, he's back to the mischief of before. "But you won't let me be the judge of that by giving me his name. Or are you afraid of what I might dig up?"

"No. I told you why. Now be good," she smiles, rolling her eyes at him. "What about this other friend of yours? Something tells me you have a problem with new people. Do you get along with his new girlfriend?"

He gives an exasperated sigh. "I wouldn't know. He won't tell me _her_ name either. Not even any vital statistics. Nothing."

She snorts with laughter. "And rightfully so. He knows you too well; you'd steal her away."

"No, I wouldn't." The expression she shoots him clearly communicates she doesn't believe him, so he insists, "I _wouldn't_. I would never break The Bro Code. You don't do that a friend, not a real one."

Robin tilts her head in at least partial consideration of that. "Well still, he's smart to keep her away from you. Even if you didn't do anything intentionally, she'd want you."

Maybe he was right about the wine because that last part just kind of slipped out. Shutting her eyes against the immediate wave of embarrassment, she takes a long sip now, hoping against hope that he won't notice her slip-up. But that prayer straightaway goes unanswered.

"_Would_ she?" he repeats with great interest, leaning towards the camera with shit-eating grin firmly in place. "I see. Cause I'm so irresistible."

Smiling at his chutzpah – she can't help it – Robin maintains, "I never said that."

"Handsome, charming, with the body of a Greek god."

"Alright, now you're _really_ pushing it."

"In that case, I'd better never meet this boyfriend of yours, right?" Barney catches her eye in challenging flirtation. "He wouldn't trust us together."

"He doesn't know about you…let's put it that way."

"Ah-ha!" he glories, not expecting such an open admission.

"No 'ah-ha'," she disputes. "I just don't know that he's the kind of guy who'd be cool with his girlfriend having a straight male best friend – especially one like you."

He throws her a self-satisfied nod. "One who gets more tail than a blue whale?"

He expects another zingy comeback but instead her brow furrows in confusion. "Do blue whales have a lot of sex?"

"I don't know." Barney's eyes dart about, his metaphor falling apart. "They have the longest tails. Just be cool, okay?"

Robin laughs, shaking her head. "You're such an idiot."

"Forget the whale," he defers, going in for the kill. "There's something more important here: your boyfriend doesn't know about me."

"So?" she says with a whisper of defensiveness.

"So I'm your dirty little secret." He clicks his tongue roguishly. "I like that."

"You don't have to make it sound so sordid," she answers with a wry smile. "I don't want him overreacting, that's all."

"But this is a healthy relationship?" he counters.

"Would you want your girlfriend to be best friends with a guy?"

"Ech, please, my ears!" Barney recoils like a vampire that's just been hit with a ray of sunlight. "I would never have, nor want, a 'girlfriend'," he gags on the word. "So the question's moot."

"See, you've just proved my point. I mean, come on, you're not exactly the kind of friend guys want their girlfriend to have….Parents probably aren't thrilled with you either," she adds consideringly.

"Oh, really?" He cocks his head back and forth, game totally on. "Then I guess those shoes aren't the thing you're most wrong about today."

"Hey, these are comfortable," Robin objects, looking down at the offending footwear. "Anyway, forget – " It's on the tip of her tongue to call him by name; Barney sees that and is on the edge of his seat waiting until she quickly diverts. " – the boyfriend."

He groans in frustration at the close-call. "Would it really be so bad just to tell me his first name? What am I going to do with that?"

"Knowing you?" she fondly smirks. "A lot. And so far things are working out. I don't want to jinx that. I've gotten two new friends out of this too, including a legitimately close girlfriend. I haven't had that in a very long time. Only once before, really, and….I missed that," she shyly divulges. "Unlike Patrice, I can tell her anything without shocking her."

"Well, not _anything_. You haven't told her about me," Barney winks.

"Some things are just too shocking," Robin retorts. "Besides, you'd want to sleep with her too!"

* * *

**January 3****rd**

* * *

Barney doesn't even bother to hide his bored yawn, but his friend doesn't notice anyway. He's so caught up in his story he's barely glancing down at Lily's laptop.

Barney had been talking with Lily at the kitchen table until Ted dropped by for lunch and usurped the conversation by telling his nauseatingly romanticized version of the tale of him and his girlfriend and their first bang or makeout session or whatever. He hasn't really been listening.

"So then I patted her shoulder and said good night," Ted finishes.

Correction, their first _non_-makeout session. Barney scowls, appalled. "You didn't even kiss her?"

"She didn't give me the signal."

"What, is she gonna bat her eyes at you in Morse code? 'Ted, kiss me'," Barney mocks, mimicking just that. "No, you just kiss her!"

"Not if you don't get the signal," Ted remains insistent.

Barney just shakes his head. "You should've kissed her. You were being a pussy."

"You kind of were, Ted," Lily agrees, turning the laptop back in her direction.

"Right?"

"Okay, I can't deal with you both ganging up on me. I'm leaving."

"Spoken like a true pussy," Barney calls after him.

"No," Ted asserts, opening the door to leave. "I've just got to get back to work." But contrary to his claim, Barney's baiting clearly has gotten to him because he stops and adds, "It doesn't matter that I didn't kiss her that night because I still won her over."

"By dumb luck and the desperation of a 4," Barney rejoins.

"She's a total 10!" Ted proclaims adamantly.

"Prove it then." Barney raises his eyebrow, daring him. "Show me her picture."

"Nice try. Never gonna happen," Ted says, walking out the door.

Chuckling, Barney focuses his attention back on Lily. "So how's life treating you, Aldrin?"

"Comme ci, comme ca." She shrugs, taking another bite of her apple gouda grilled cheese.

"Your shackling date is fast approaching," he prompts.

"God, Barney," she cringes, "do you have to keep calling it that?"

He counters with: "Why does it suddenly bother you so much?"

To his surprise, Lily doesn't dispute that; simply drops what's left of her sandwich onto the plate and brushes the crumbs off her hands.

"Let me ask you something," she says after a beat. "You've done some despicable things in your lifetime."

"I don't know that I like where this is going," Barney protests but Lily waves him off.

"How do you have the courage to do that? How do you find the strength to shut off all your better impulses?"

He grins self-assuredly. "Well, I – "

"Not now, of course. There aren't any left," Lily razzes him. "But back when you first started scamming women. Look, I'm not judging."

He gives her a leveling look.

"I'm really not," she swears. "Who am I to judge?"

"Did Lily Aldrin really just ask me that?"

"I mean, I understand why you do it, Barney. Sometimes you just need to do something for yourself. I get that. I even get why you run. Some things are too messy, too hard to handle. Sometimes it's just too much."

Barney pins her with scrutinizing eyes. "What's this about? Who're you looking to scam, Aldrin?"

"No one," she claims but her behavior is still cagey enough to keep his suspicions raised. "I've just been thinking a lot lately…..Do you know I've always wanted to be an artist? It's what I went to college for; a lot of people don't know that. I even did a study abroad semester in Paris. But then I graduated and followed Marshall to New York and….somehow ended up a kindergarten teacher." She rubs at her forehead, futilely trying to ease the tension headache. "I'm not even sure anymore how that happened."

Barney isn't nearly as insensitive as people tend to think, and Lily is one of his oldest friends. As such, he does genuinely care about her, and these signs of real turmoil have him worried enough that he has to ask, "Okay, where is this coming from?"

She doesn't answer, only sighs and kind of shakes her head. But it's the look of conflicted sadness that really gets him, leaves him feeling awkward and unsure of what to do, which in turn makes him cut the tension by cracking a joke. "Has the daily drudgery of caring for other people's unruly brats finally convinced you what a mistake it would be to have any of your own?"

That manages to get half a smile out of her, though he suspects it's more from appreciating his clumsy attempt at concern rather than from actual amusement. "No, surprisingly, I still want those two future 'brats' of my own," she says dryly. "But….the West Coast has a really great art scene. Since you've been there, haven't you noticed?"

Barney prides himself on smelling vulnerability on a woman a mile away. Between that and his experience with the FBI, he's had years' worth of experience reading people – and every one of those instincts is on high alert. Still, he answers evenly, not letting on. "That's not exactly my thing."

"San Francisco in particular has this great apprenticeship program that – " She cuts off when she realizes he's looking at her oddly. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

Lily refuses to talk anymore about it, laughing it off as if she was just spitballing. She cuts the rest of their conversation short after that, but the damage is already done. The wheels in Barney's mind are already busily turning and he doesn't like the general direction they're headed.


	33. San Francisco

The next morning – far too early to be awake if he's not sneaking from some chick's bed in the misty grey half-light of pre-dawn – Barney calls, hoping against hope to hear Lily answer, but her phone goes straight to voicemail.

She can't be in school; kids are still off for Winter Break. She never lets her phone go dead. Lily's an early riser too, and it's almost 10 in New York. Just in case she's sleeping in, however, he keeps calling her over the next couple hours only to get the same result. His mind wants to compensate with all sorts of reasons why but he knows the real answer, though he doesn't want to know it.

Ultimately, with no other choice but to face it, Barney hurries into action. He's still at least a few hours ahead of her. Using his contacts, that should be more than enough time. If he plays his cards right he can head her off at the airport, making things a lot less complicated.

He's calling in sick to the 'office'. James is just going to have to handle things on his own today.

* * *

When Lily first walks onto the jetway her plan is to make a beeline to baggage claim in hopes of beating the midday traffic and settling into her rooming house as soon as possible – i.e., before she can change her mind.

That plan goes up in smoke the moment she steps into SFO and Barney's is the first face she sees.

For a moment she stops dead in her tracks, heedless of her fellow travelers who are forced to step around her, annoyed. Then she slowly starts walking toward him. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't need to; his presence here says it all.

He's carved out a quiet space in direct view of the jet bridge, cleverly insuring she couldn't miss him when she arrived. As the initial rush of disembarking passengers subsides, it's particularly subdued. Now she can't claim it's too noisy to talk; he made sure of that.

She thinks of a host of different things to start out with but when it comes down to it discards any fabricated story and simply says, "How did you know?"

"From the last time we talked and your cryptic remarks about San Francisco. Honestly, it kinda seems like you wanted to get caught," he insinuates.

All last night, she had fantasy after fantasy of Marshall somehow sensing it. His reaction varied between calling off the wedding, throwing her out of the apartment, and offering to date her long-distance. Never in any scenario did Lily imagine Barney being the one to stop her. Although, now that he's brought it up, he might have a point. Maybe she _was_ leaving a subconscious breadcrumb trail. "But…how did you know what flight I'd be on?"

"Please. I've got a guy." They lapse into silence for a several minutes until it becomes clear she's not going first so he quietly questions, "What are you doing, Lil?"

Asked pointblank, she knows there's no more stalling. She's going to have to talk about this, actually admit it out loud. "I…This isn't something I just came up with overnight," she wants him to know. "Ted's new girlfriend, she moved 3,000 miles to follow her dreams and that got me thinking how I never followed mine. It started out just fooling around with some internet searches, nothing serious, but then I happened upon this topnotch fellowship here in San Francisco," Lily explains. "I love painting and I've always wondered if I'm any good at it. This was my way of finding out."

He doesn't say anything in response but it's written all over his face what he's thinking. "Don't look at me like that, Barney. Don't act like you've never done something drastic to get what you wanted. You'd do anything to prove your latest play or scheme. This is no different. I've just _have_ to know if I can do this."

Barney shakes his head. "This is nothing like my latest play – and since when do you want to emulate my behavior? Feeling morally superior to Barney Stinson is one of the group's favorite pastimes. No, this isn't about proving anything," he contradicts, looking over her face and reading her skillfully. "It's not about your dreams. It's not even about art. It's not about painting at all. You could have found a program back home. You expect me to believe that New York City of all places doesn't have first-rate internship programs in the arts? But still, you chose a program all the way across the country, skipped town, and never even told Marshall. You don't want to be an artist. You – "

"I _do_ want to be an artist," Lily interjects.

"Fine," he allows dismissively, "then you don't _just_ want to be an artist. You can't kid a kidder, Lily. That's not was this is. This is classic runaway bride."

"So what if it is?" she snaps defensively. But when he raises an eyebrow at her all that bluster deflates and she sinks down into a nearby chair, her knees suddenly feeling weak. "I knew he was going to propose even before he did. And I _wanted_ him to, but…only a night or so after I said 'yes' I started getting insomnia. Marrying Marshall has been all I've wanted for such a long time. That was always the plan, always what I dreamed my life would be. But once it was really happening, it seemed huge and scary."

"Why didn't you just talk to him about it?" Barney asks, sitting down beside her.

"Are you kidding? He wouldn't have understood. He's not exactly nervous about tying the knot."

Barney expels a heavy breath – on behalf of his bro, and Lily, and the mess that's to come for the both of them. "You're having second thoughts." He's lived this before; it's a terrible position to be in, and in this case Lily actually loves Marshall so there are no winners here, only losing all around.

"Yes," she admits, but the second it's out of her mouth it doesn't sound right and she changes it to "No", then to "Not about Marshall."

"Lily," Barney begins in a warning tone.

"I know this is a mistake. I know it, okay. But, damn it, I've made no mistakes! From the time I was eighteen I've done everything – my life, my relationship, my career – mistake-free."

"Since when is that a bad thing?" he argues.

"I just need to do this before becoming someone's wife and mother. Before settling down forever. Certainly _you_ must understand that," she charges. "There's still so much I want to do that I never got around to. I want to travel, have excitement, live overseas as an artist. Maybe have a lesbian relationship."

"That's the first thing you've said that makes any sense."

"And that's the least of it. Ted's girlfriend already offered to help me out with that by giving me a kiss."

"W-What?" Barney's eyes widen with enthusiasm. "Tell me more about _that_."

"It was just a little peck," she says off-handedly. "It doesn't count."

"Well, if that's what you're so worried about I'm sure Marshall will be on board. You've just got to pitch it to him right. Not just a lesbian thing; make it a threesome and I guarantee you there's no way he's shutting that down."

"Barney, it's not about sex. Everything isn't always about sex."

"You're the one who said you wanted to have a lesbian relationship."

"I'm not – I just – I didn't have _any_ of the experiences I set out to have." Her eyes start to tear up and her voice wavers as she stresses, "I didn't do any of it."

"There's nothing unique about that." He gives a half smile, patting her elbow supportively. "No one's life is how they set out for it to be. If it were, right now I'd be a world-renowned violinist playing with the New York Philharmonic while composing my fourth concerto on the side – and simultaneously sleeping my way through the hot chicks in the orchestra. But who cares what you set out to do? Who says you'd be any better off if you'd done it? You're marrying your _best friend_." He shrugs, as if that alone should be argument enough. "If you've got to get married, that's the way to do it."

"I know," Lily grants him. "…She told me that too."

"Who?"

"Ted's girlfriend. But – "

"No buts. Lily, you _have_ to go home." He holds her eyes intensely, unusually serious for Barney. "You and Marshall belong together. The two of you have something most people search their whole lives for and never find. I know you love him, and if you thought for one second about what he'll be going through once he finds out you're gone, you wouldn't be here for a single second more." He reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a voucher from the pocket, offering it her. "Here. I already bought you a ticket back home."

Lily slowly reaches out and takes it from, studying the words printed on the front as if they hold the answer to life.

"Marshall is one of the best people I know," Barney continues.

"He is," she unreservedly agrees, and now a teardrop wells over landing on her cheekbone. "I know he is. I _love_ him."

"I know you do," he assures her. Still, he's not going to sugarcoat it. "But if you do this, if you run out on the wedding and you stay here, it won't be long until some other woman realizes that too and you'll lose him forever. I can't stand the thought of that happening, and I can't just steal chicks from him endlessly – especially when I'm stuck here in La-La Land."

"I – I guess I never thought about that." How _had_ it never entered her mind that if she took off on adventures Marshall's life wouldn't just be put on hold until she was ready to come back to him?

"Tough love time, Aldrin: you can't expect Marshall to wait around forever for you to get your crap together."

Lily sighs deeply and her eyes scrunch closed in shame as she realizes for the first time just how selfish she's been. "I know. You're right. And I don't want us to break up. I don't want to lose him. I still want to marry him, I do. I just don't want everything in my life to be decided already." She stares down at the ticket in her hand. "I don't know what to do….."

"You want to know what I think?" Barney offers gently.

"Why not?" Lily cracks the tiniest of smiles. "What have I got to lose?"

"All of this, everything you just said, it sounds like cold feet to me." She opens her mouth to respond, to deny it he's sure, and he heads her off. "Hey, no judgement. If I was getting married these gorgeous feet would be giant blocks of ice," he quips, gesturing down to his $600 Salvatore Ferragamos.

She fails to laugh however; still too conflicted to appreciate his joke, so he levels with her. "Look, I'm probably the least qualified person to be giving relationship advice, but I'm pretty sure getting married doesn't mean _everything_ in your life has to be decided, only who you're gonna bone from now on. That's all marriage is: a promise to keep it in your pants with anyone else – and not to run out on them in the middle of the night. So far you're 1 for 2, but that's easy to fix."

This time she does laugh a little and he grins. "Go home. Be a teacher or a painter or a candlestick maker, but go back to your fiancé and talk to him about this."

Lily sniffs and another tear slides down her jaw, falling onto her sweater.

A corner of his mouth turns down in commiseration and Barney bumps her shoulder with his. "It's not too late to turn this around. That's why I came. I know you love Marshall. I know you want to be with him. But if you don't speak up, if you don't do something to save it right now, you could end up losing each other….And I can promise you, Lil, all those mushy-gushy gross romantic feelings you have, they're not going to magically go away just because you move across the country – or even if he does find someone else."

He watches her eyes cloud over at just the possibility and he knows he's getting through to her. "Ted always spouts the whole 'You only regret the chances you don't take' cliché," he goes on, though he pulls a face at the banality of that. "Personally, I don't see how if you take a chance and get brutally rejected you're _not_ going to regret that. But, in this case, we both know Marshall won't reject you no matter what you tell him."

He means to end it at that, but for some reason last night's talk with Robin pops into his mind, the way she assured him this new guy of hers is first-rate 'boyfriend material' and how he's constantly telling her how wonderful she is and how much he adores her, and soon he finds himself adding, "Just don't wait too long. Don't wait until Marshall finds someone else who appreciates him too and is willing to _say_ that. Then you really will have something to regret."

Barney shudders at a horrifying realization. "Sometimes inaction really _is_ the biggest mistake; god, I think that means Ted is right."

Lily just stares at him a long moment. "Wow. Who are you and what have you done with my friend Barney Stinson?"

That's his cue to snap back into what they expect of him. After all, he has an image to uphold. He abruptly stands up and is suddenly all business, every inch the FBI man she has no clue he is. "Never, ever tell anyone I was here. I will deny it tooth and nail. This trip never happened." With that, he turns on his heel.

But only a second later he spins back, once again the silly, exuberant Barney she's well familiar with. "Hey, if you had four hours to kill before your flight, what would you do: Alcatraz or Fisherman's Wharf?"

Her mind still reeling with all that just happened here, she mumbles a reflexive response. "Definitely Fisherman's Wharf."

He nods at that and turns again, this time walking away.

"Wait!" Lily calls after, hopping to her feet and grabbing her carry-on, wheeling it along after her as she sprints to catch up. "Barney, wait!" she says, reaching out and stopping him with a hand on his arm. "My flight's not for another five hours either. Why don't we go together? You can do some shopping or take in a cruise of the bay while I find a nice bench on the pier and have a long talk with my fiancé. Then we can meet up for lunch before coming back to catch our flights."

Barney smiles. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Barney rejoins Lily, sliding down next to her on the bench she found with a perfect view of the Golden Gate Bridge. "So…how'd it go? Marshall's taking you back, right?"

Lily nods. "He was shocked. And hurt." She grimaces on the word. "But he wants to work things out."

"See, that's good. What'd I tell you?"

She nods again wordlessly, looking straight out to the water but only half seeing. A gull cries from somewhere nearby. The breeze whips a strand of red hair over her mouth and it clings to her lipstick. Still, she says nothing.

Barney awkwardly clears his throat, nudging her. "Look, the 60s is pretty warm for January, but it's starting to get a little chilly. Why don't we – "

"What was I thinking?" Lily wonders aloud. "I told myself I was being brave, that we needed to figure out who we are outside of us, needed to learn to do things on our own. And maybe there is some truth to that, but why did I think we needed to be broken up to do it? I wasn't being brave; I was being a coward. Seriously, how badly has a person messed up when Barney Stinson becomes the voice of reason and has to tell you you're doing something bad?"

"I didn't say it was bad," he points out. "I said it was a mistake for _you_. Some people run from relationships for the right reasons. But you would have regretted it."

"Well, by some miracle, things are all patched up. He forgave me. The wedding's still on." She shakes her head, blinking away fresh tears of regret. "I don't deserve him, but I'm glad…..And you." She turns to face him now. "_Thank you_, Barney. Thank you for talking sense into me. Who knows how close Marshall and I just came to losing out on a life together? Now we'll never have to know, and it's all thanks to you." She slides her hand atop his. "Are you _sure_ I can't tell him what you did for us?"

He shakes his head. "What are you talking about? I just came to take you to lunch."

She smiles at him gratefully. "Barney – "

"Come on, I'm starving." He takes her arm, pulling her up. "On my cruise I heard good things about Fog Harbor Fish House. Let's go hit them up lunch. I came all this way; I've got to at least get some fresh lobster and crab out of it."

Their walk to the restaurant is mostly quiet, but at lunch once he's plied with delicious soft-shell crab and Sauvignon blanc, Lily cunningly queries, "This woman who you didn't want to talk about before you left, the one who is absolutely _not_ your girlfriend, whatever happened to her? Do you two still stay in touch?"

Barney looks up from his meal but his expression is the picture of casual composure. "Sure," he tries to shrug it off, taking another bite of his meal. "I told you, we're bros. We talk all the time."

"Because from what you said back at the airport about inaction and waiting too long and someone willing to say it out loud, it kind of sounded to me like you might have some regrets of your own there," she astutely observes.

"Who, me? Naw, I'm just a good BSer. You know that, Aldrin."

"Yes, I do." And the way she says it lets him know she's well aware he's doing it right now. Nevertheless, she's smart enough to know she'll get nowhere with this and after another scrutinizing look decides to let it go.

"So what's Marshall doing to make you atone for almost dumping his ass at the altar?" Barney asks, changing the subject. "You gotta wake him with a morning BJ every day for a month?"

"No."

"Good for him. What you did was pretty cold. I would've gone for at least three months too."

"_No_," Lily heckles, rolling her eyes. "I mean I don't have to _do_ anything. He _forgave_ me, and he's going to help me start applying for art schools in New York when I get back."

"You got off scot-free? _Wow_." Barney gapes at her in disbelief. "That's love? Maybe Ted's right about everything today; it does turn you into a total pussy. Count me out," he shudders. "But good on you. At least you're the one who's got him wrapped around _your_ finger." He taps his fist to his chest. "Respect," Barney nods at her.

"Don't be too impressed," she bursts his bubble. "He'll still be getting those morning BJs."

"But I thought you said – "

"He doesn't have to _make_ me," she gently laughs. "And _that's_ love, bitch."


	34. Enticement

_r_

* * *

**January 7****th**

* * *

"What have you been up to in sunny California?" Robin asks. A smile dances on her lips as she peers closer at the screen.

"What?" Barney wonders.

"You really have gotten tanner! Is laying out in the sun part of the operation?" she harasses. "Though I've gotta admit, I envy you."

"Missing the warm weather, huh?" Seeing her dressed for bed all bundled up in a long floral robe, it's the logical conclusion.

"No," she pooh-poohs, "I just don't have anything on under this. Please, I'm Canadian. This kind of weather is nothing for me, but I'm sick of hearing everyone else complain about a few inches of snow like it's the apocalypse."

"Still wearing your miniskirts then?" he guesses with a smile.

"Why wouldn't I? This is like fall back home." Barney laughs at that and she questions, "What about you? If you've got time to soak up the sun, does that mean you've solved the case already and can come home?"

"Not yet, no."

"It's always pleasure before business with you…." Robin teases him.

"Hardly. It may be warmer than New York but it's still January. It got down to forty-two last night; not exactly beach weather."

She shoots him a knowing look. "I'm sure there have still been other types of pleasure."

"Well, I've got to be me," he says leeringly, straightening the knot of his tie.

"Thought so."

Something about the way she said it – amused but resigned, like she'd never have expected anything more of him anyway – makes Barney add, "I did recently save a good friend from making a terrible mistake, so there's that."

"Hmm," she makes a show of considering, "that _is_ more altruistic than what I figured you'd be up to. Has finally putting away some bad guys made you go soft?"

He openly scoffs. "Barney Stinson never goes soft, a fact I'll prove to you if you ever let me." She rolls her eyes, biting back a smile. "Lest you get the wrong idea, I've made my way through plenty of buxom blondes, brunettes, and red heads while I've been out here. You've been keeping up with my blog, haven't you?"

Robin's forehead scrunches guiltily. "Sorry," she offers, seeming to authentically mean it. "I've been a little busy with T– the boyfriend."

He feels something twitch unpleasantly at that revelation. "So he's draining your awesome already; I warned you…" Still, Barney ignores the stinging twist of…whatever it was to playfully guilt-trip her. "Because _I'm_ always a solid bro, I'll give you a quick recap. Last week's blog title: Market Research. You see, my legendary success rate of 83% doesn't happen by accident. Every single play I run on women has been meticulously field-tested. Whenever I go out of town, it's the perfect opportunity to try out those newbies. By weeding out the bad plays in foreign markets like L.A., I know which ones will work back in New York on my home turf."

Thinking about it, she decides, "That actually makes a lot of sense. But isn't your new identity out there kind of a built-in play already?"

"Sure, but it's not one I can repeat. No, lately I've been working on a new club uniform," Barney reveals proudly. "Much like a play, it too has to go through the proper stages of development to identify the perfect lady bait. I don't want to go too extreme into peacocking," he deliberates aloud, "but I know it has to be effulgent."

Barney anticipates a helpful suggestion but is met by a tickled giggle instead. "Why is it so important that you look radiant? Does your latest play involve moonlighting as a nineteen year old Miss America contestant?"

His mouth twitches and he purses his lips to the side, fighting back a smile. "Just remember, they laughed at Columbus too. Besides, you can't mock my efforts when you're out of the game sitting on the bench since you voluntarily – though I'll emphasize _temporarily_ – tied yourself down to Mr. Lame."

Robin's eyes darken naughtily and she leans confidentially in toward the camera. "You say that like it's a bad thing but we both know a good tie-down is intensely enjoyable."

A surge of heat licks through him at her words and the accompanying images of them his mind conjures and Barney gives a libidinous smirk. "Yeah it is," he lustfully drawls. "The plans I'd have for you would – " Remembering himself, he shakes his head, shakes his mind out of the fantasy. "No. Don't try to distract me, minx. You just don't want to admit I'm right about the peacocking."

She smiles mischievously, not even attempting to deny the accusation of distraction because that's exactly what she was doing.

He narrows his eyes at her, but resumes in full Broda mode, "It's a scientific fact, Scherbatsky, that to land a hottie I just have to think like a fish."

Hearing that, Robin's teasing smile turns to full-on beaming that she can feel all the way to her toes. Because she's missed his craziness, all his theories and schemes. She's missed hearing about it over a late-night glass – or two or three – of Glen McKenna. Missed being a part of it all with him. Missed _him_. "Why a fish?" she laughs.

"I'm glad you asked." He grins, holding up a finger. "Quick biology lesson: Women, like fish, are attracted to shiny objects."

"Really, Barney?" she retorts with affectionate weariness. "You think women are all that stupid? That's misogynistic.

"Hey, I love the ladies. You'll find all varieties on my Been There, Banged That list. I'm not saying all women are that stupid. Although," he rethinks it, "I _have_ encountered quite of few that are."

"Well, it takes one to fall for your plays so you're not exactly pulling from a fair pool."

His expression turns devilish. "Ignoring that and assuming it's just your time of the month…" he teases her baitingly because he loves to get a rise out of her. Judging by her smirk and shaking head, he knows that she knows he said it on purpose. "Women don't have the brains of fish. They just share several common characteristics."

"Like scales and fins? Barney, I'm aware of your mermaid fantasy, but this is reaching even for you," Robin banters, enjoying herself much too much for the conversation to end any time soon.

"Not at all," Barney argues, "and you'd already know that had you checked this week's blog entry detailing the twenty-four ways in which women are like fish." He shoots her a smartass look. "And I came up with those in ten minutes; I'm sure there are at least twenty-four more."

"Hang on…." She grabs her phone off the coffee table, pulls up his latest blog entry and skims it over quickly. "Okay, this is exactly what I said. Number 19:_ They both eat things_. That's not reaching? And Number 16 directly mentions _Splash_. I _knew_ this was all a weird sex fetish!"

"First of all, Robin, that's not a 'weird sex fetish'," he claims around air quotes. "_Every_ man wants to bang a mermaid."

"Why? You lose all options below the waist."

"There's plenty a guy can do with boobs and a mouth. Second," Barney continues, "you can't deny there are some very perceptive points on that list, like both traveling in protective groups and both being cold-blooded."

"This list is cold-blooded," Robin smirks. "Number 11:_ They get all ornery if you try to grab their tail_? Uh, yeah, because no one wants to be groped by random strangers."

"Depends on what they look like and how good they are at it," he counters. "I am _very_ good."

"And yet they still protest." Her eyebrow shoots up cheekily. "You admitted it yourself right here on your blog."

"Oh, I'm in a league all my own. Only about half this list applies to me. But I write for the general education of bro-kind."

"Number 14, Barney?" Robin accuses.

"_You must document great catches or no one will believe you_." He makes a baffled face. "What's wrong with that? You and I did that within the first week of knowing each other. You told me all about Brawny, remember?"

"Yes, but you left out the last part: _video preferred_," she reads disapprovingly.

"Come on!" Barney sniggers. "Don't act like you've never taped yourself."

"I haven't."

He snorts. "Liar."

"I really haven't," Robin swears.

"Sorry." Barney shakes his head in skepticism. "Not buying it."

But she looks him dead in the eyes challengingly. "When have you known me to be ashamed about sexual impulses?"

"Never," he realizes. "Not five minutes ago you asked me to tie you up."

"I didn't," she contradicts, "but you see my point. I'm a woman who likes to keep her options open, who likes her freedom, and above all who loves getting down and dirty with a man who knows how to give it to her real good. I love sex." She shrugs unapologetically but makes sure to clarify, "_Great_ sex."

At the moment what she loves is that she can say things like this to Barney, that they can be real with each other and just tell it like it is. Her sexual mores aren't something that Ted exactly loves about her. He likes it when _he_ can be on the receiving end, but she knows he considers her past to be on the promiscuous side and altogether he'd rather she be a much more traditional woman when it comes to love, sex, marriage and kids.

"Anyway, you know all that about me," Robin reasons. "I think we've been very candid with each other. So what reason would I have to lie about this?"

Barney ruminates over that for a second. "Then you've really never taped yourself?"

"No."

Apparently finally believing her, he asks, "Why not? It's _awesome_! Having sex while a video's recording it all is almost like another person watching," he enthusiastically touts its benefits. "And then you get to watch it later too…watch yourself getting off, relive all the sensations. That's just dirty enough for you to love it!"

Robin giggles at his overly passionate plea, ultimately confessing with a sly smile, "It's not like I've never _thought_ about it. Everyone's sex life could use a little spicing up."

"Not mine," he avows, "so you must mean yours. What's the matter? Mr. Romance not exactly rocking it in the bedroom?"

"Don't be gross, Barney."

"What?" He shrugs innocently. "You're the one who wanted things spicier; I'm not the one with the problem here. You want spice? Make a homemade porn. That'll do it every time."

She shakes her head, certain it's not the answer here. "No, that's…that's not for me."

"Why?" Barney debates. "And don't try to sell me that you're one of those girls who gets embarrassed looking at herself."

Robin scoffs straightaway. "Are you kidding? That's a turn-on."

"I knew it," he crows, "a woman after my own heart. So why haven't you tried it?"

"Because I'm not going to tape some one-night stand without their knowledge, like you do."

"A good 20% of the time I get them to sign a waiver," Barney offers.

"And you know I've never been one for relationships."

"But you're in one now. Seems like the perfect opportunity." Robin crosses her arms over her chest, clearly expecting more insults of her guy, but he really was being genuine. "Seriously. What about this boyfriend whose name you still won't tell me?"

She laughs outright at Ted as a serious suggestion. "He likes things fairly vanilla; he'd never be into that. Besides, just…no. It isn't only about consent. Even with the few guys I've seen casually, it would have been too weird. If I dated the guy, or if we're still dating, it'd be too hard to watch the two of us having sex and not see _him_."

"So what? Seeing the other person is half the fun. Unless you're banging total slobs, and I don't believe that's the case."

"It's not about their body. I don't know…it just makes it personal, and then it's not watching myself enjoying sex; it's watching me having sex with _that guy_, and it would kill whatever lady boner I had going."

"Not if you were filming us," Barney argues seductively. "I'd make it about you. Your only focus would be one 'O Canada' face after another – on film and in reality."

Robin's lips melt into a coy receptive smile, but she whispers his name in a halfhearted tone of warning.

"Just think about it," he tempts her. "The porn we'd make would best anything at the Adult Video Expo. We could easily win an AVN." At the confused pinch of her eyebrows, he explains, "An Adult Video News award", adding with a wicked grin, "The gold statute is a naked man and woman about to bone."

It's late. She's had considerable scotch. She's all alone, and everything about this conversation from his tone to his expression to that naughty smile and lustful sparkle is his eyes has left her feeling vaguely horny. All combined, it leads her to admit, "If we'd gotten together in that little friends with benefits arrangement you proposed, then yeah, I probably would have let you tape us…let you be my first."

Her thinly-veiled flirtation sets off an answering stirring in Barney and his voice drops low and sensual. "You ever had Skype sex? I could be your first at that." She doesn't miss his slight fidget in the chair, the way he discreetly adjusts his pants. "It's not cheating if it's over an electronic device."

She laughs soft and deep and impossibly sexy to his ears. "That's the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard."

"But _have_ you?"

"Nope, not on any kind of video."

The expression in her eyes is one of daring, like she almost _wants_ him to try and talk her into it now, but he doesn't press his luck on the off chance he's mistaken. "Well, you should…"

But he's still Barney Stinson, and a roguish spark lights his eyes because he's not about to leave it at that. "Try it out on yourself during a little one-on-one session," is his cheeky suggestion. "Light a few candles, turn on some music, get naked, hit record and go to town. I guarantee you'll love watching the result."

Robin bites her lip; he can tell she's considering it. "Really?"

"Just try it," Barney cajoles. "With a body like yours, it's gonna look so hot before you even touch yourself. In fact, I bet it'll be your go-to from now on."

".…Maybe I could _try_ it. I mean, I could always delete it," she justifies and he chuckles waywardly.

"Trust me, you're not going to want to," he promises enticingly. "Having that X-rated video on your phone everywhere you go will be your latest dirty little secret – one only you and I know about. It'll be a constant turn-on right there in your pocket."

Robin gives a hedonistic smile. "You know what?…I think I will."

"Go ahead. I'll let you go so you can do it now." He grins incorrigibly. "I can see you want to."

She rolls her eyes, smirking, but doesn't deny he's right or make any claims that she isn't about to do exactly as he suggested.

"Just remember, don't turn the music too loud. You'll want to hear all those gasps and moans."

"Good tip." She nods once, reaching over to disconnect their video. "Bye, Barney."

"Wait," he stops her. "You want to get the laptop at a good angle too. Tilt the screen back just a little." Smiling coyly, she does it. "Stop! Perfect, right there. That's the money shot."

"Thanks for the coaching," she replies, clearly impatient to end the call.

"One more thing."

"_Barney_," she objects in frustration, "if you never let me go, how am I supposed to do this?"

"Take a look at Number 24 on the Women Are Like Fish list."

Robin is momentarily muddled, her mind already on other things, but she looks down to her phone to check his blog. "_Can hook either with a great line_," she reads.

"Got you, Scherbatsky," he says, followed by a smug evil laugh. "Let the record state, I can entice you into anything. But by all means, don't let that stop you from actually doing it; you're gonna love it. And back it up to the cloud so I can watch it someday once you and the boy toy are through."

Barney's grin – half teasing, half provocative – is the last thing Robin sees before her screen goes dark. Still seeing it in her mind, she unbelts her robe, hurrying to grab some candles.


	35. Here

b

* * *

**January 11****th**

* * *

Panting, Robin hits the little STOP square on her laptop and grabs her phone, texting Barney to explain why she hadn't picked up: _Can't Skype. I'm in the bath_.

Less than thirty seconds later, she gets a regular call from him and when she answers the first words out of his mouth are: "Oooh, let me see."

"Not a chance."

He groans regretfully followed by an audible pout. "Now that you've got me all revved up at least tell me, did you do it? Did you make your own little _Robin Got Fingered_? Please say you did."

"I did," she divulges.

"And have you watched it since?"

"I was right now. You interrupted."

Barney chuckles licentiously. "I thought you sounded out of breath! Don't you have a boyfriend to take care of that for you? Or else what's the point of having one?"

"It's not like we live together," Robin offers by way of explanation. "Sometimes I get an urge. And you were right; the video is super-hot. And I – Wait a minute," she cuts short defensively, "why am I justifying myself to you of all people when it comes to sex?"

"I don't know. I'm all for a bit of self-love," he wholeheartedly approves. "I was only pointing out that if you were sleeping with me, you wouldn't need it."

Voice dripping in skepticism, she queries, "So you're saying you'd service me 24/7?"

"Who wouldn't? Scherbatsky, that's the _dream_. You'd want to take me up on it too, I promise you that," Barney adds provocatively.

"I knew I shouldn't have answered the phone."

"Yeah, why did you?" he replies, amused.

The truth is his name and image popped up on her laptop in the heat of the moment, and knowing he was there on the line almost like he was right in the room made her come instantly. At that point she was done, so why not answer?

Robin keeps that to herself, however, merely opening her cigarette pack, fishing one out and lighting it up.

"Is that a lighter I hear?"

She heaves a sigh. "You're not going to judge me now too, are you?"

"Oh, ho-ho! So the boyfriend doesn't approve of your occasional cigarette habit?" Barney realizes in delight.

Robin takes a long drag, blissfully blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling. "He wouldn't. If he knew about it."

"Ah, more secrets….."

"And there's the judgement."

"On the contrary, I'm all for keeping secrets from the person you're banging. Most of my sex partners don't even know my real name. Nope, no judgement from me, Scherbatsky. I was just going to recommend you try a post-orgasm _cigar_. You'll find they're even more satisfying."

She hums reflectively, thinking less about the cigar and more about how refreshing their kind of free and open exchanges are – and missing him for what must be the hundredth time since he's been gone. "Thanks, I'll try that next time."

"Just part of being Broda," Barney says offhandedly, but there's a warm smile in his voice that gives away his affectionate support.

Hearing it causes Robin to smile herself, and she reminds him, "You know, this bro-to-bro wingwoman relationship was supposed to go both ways, with you taking advantage of my unique female perspective."

"Oh, I'd like to take _all_ kinds of advantage of you," he assures her, "especially when you're all naked and soapy and wet." And though she can't see, he draws her figure in the air with his hands, imagining touching her.

"I have no doubt of that," she teases, "but you know that's not what I meant. What plays have you been up to as Lil' Barney wreaks havoc on L.A.? Maybe I can help you fine-tune them," Robin offers hoping to return his understanding, wanting this to be a two-way street. "Have you tried the vampire costume from Halloween?"

"You loved that costume, didn't you?" he laughs.

She skillfully deflects with, "I don't understand why you _have_ to use costumes to get girls into bed."

Ignoring that, Barney acknowledges, "I do have a play called "The Vampire". You Scotch tape Tic Tacs to your teeth to make fangs and then dress goth. But that one's a bit played out. Lately, I've had great success with "The SNASA"."

The line falls silent for long enough that Barney finally questions, "Robin? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm just deciding if I even want to ask."

"You do," he eagerly swears.

"Fine. What's "The SNASA"?"

"I'm glad you asked! "The SNASA" goes a little something like this: You zero in on a hot chick who doesn't look so bright. Then you point to your drink appreciatively and mention how you're only allowed to drink Tang up in space. This will indubitably cause her to reply, 'Wow! You're an astronaut?', to which you say, 'Shhh! I'm actually in a top-secret government space program called Secret NASA, or SNASA."

"Oh my god," Robin sputters. "Tell me you don't actually do this."

"Op-op, please hold your questions till the end," he responds and continues with the explanation of his play. "The hottie will be appropriately impressed at your SNASA status and will usually inquire, 'Do you go to the moon and stuff?'"

"And I suppose you tell her you do?"

"I tell her: 'Well, not the moon you're familiar with'," Barney says, all swagger. "'Though I have been to the smoon.'"

"_Wow_."

"Brilliant, I know," he allows, honored.

"No, I meant 'Wow, no way does that work'."

"It's an advanced play, I'll give you that. Not for the faint of heart. But with the proper skill set, such as mine, it has a success rate in the double digits."

Robin laughs, having easily figured him out. "That just means anything higher than 9% – which adds up to nine out of ten women throwing a drink in your face."

"You do have to find the right target," Barney concedes. "Women dumb enough to believe in SNASA often don't know what NASA is. If you can get your hands on a space helmet, that doesn't hurt either…Then one thing leads to another and you're in orbit! Of course, "The SNASA" has a very important last step before she falls asleep and you sneak out."

"And what's that?"

"Offer to demonstrate what it feels like returning from the smoon. One word: reentry."

"You're disgusting," she smirks.

He chortles bawdily, claiming, "You _love_ it!"

"I still don't understand how any woman, no matter how dumb, could fall for that."

"The true key to landing chicks is self-confidence, which I have in spades," he boasts.

"Yes, but all that confidence is in character," she perceptively points out. "You never pick someone up just as yourself."

"Maybe," Barney allows after a beat, "but any woman I'm sleeping with doesn't need to touch herself alone in the bathtub."

"How would you know," Robin laughs, "when you don't do repeat performances?"

"I don't need to. Once a woman has been with me a solo run will never again suffice."

"Even if that were true, which I doubt, it'd be all the more reason _not_ to sleep with you since you never stick around," she challenges. "That means if she let you in she'd only be letting herself in for a future of dissatisfaction."

"Touché," he recognizes the clever hit.

Robin exhales one last long satisfying wisp of smoke and then stubs out her cigarette. "See, that's the thing, Barney. It's not perfect between me and my boyfriend, far from it. But he sticks around."

"If that makes you happy, Robin, I'm glad. But you might want to set your standards a bit higher than a guy who's simply here."

"…..You may be right," she answers at long last, "but 'here' amounts for a lot these days."

That has Barney's focused attention; was it meant as a hint that he's all the way across the country, thus counting him out? He wishes they were on Skype so he could see her face.

"And I don't mean just physically nearby," she adds. "There's such a thing as emotional availability too."

"Emotional availability?" Barney scoffs in disgust. "You picked up that phrase from him, didn't you?"

Robin shakes her head. "You never take anything seriously."

"No, I'm just surprised that someone who's got up at least as many emotional walls as I do would be interested in 'emotional availability'," he says, again nearly choking in repulsion on the phrase.

If Robin was a woman in touch with her emotions she'd say that's precisely _why_ it's appealing to her; someone with walls up doesn't want to be abandoned again. But she's not in touch with her emotions – or at least she won't let herself be – so instead her mind jumps to the easiest truth. She laughs softly and confesses, "It _can_ be smothering sometimes."

"Exactly," Barney approves. "That's why you and I steer clear of the R-word."

"I'm breaking new ground here….Still, no one wants to be bombarded by their partner – unless it's in the bedroom," she smirks.

He grins, nodding his head in pride. "You are one kinky woman, aren't you, Scherbatsky?"

She gives a sly smile and answers, "Kinky? If you want to talk kinky, what about you and…."

The conversation takes off from there on who's kinkiest and why, and emotional and physical presence – along with any imperfections in Robin's relationship – don't come up again after that.


	36. Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

**Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back**

* * *

**January 13****th**

* * *

Robin answers her phone with, "Hey, what are you doing up? It's got to be like five in the morning there. Did you just crawl out of some rando's bed and now you're calling to brag about the success of your Ultimate Club Outfit?"

"Nah, that's still under development. This is something more personal."

She gives an exaggerated sigh. "For the last time, I will not sext you, Barney. Yes, that does count as cheating."

"I'm still gonna get you on board with that," Barney claims, unable to resist a little bit of banter back at her teasing tone. "But no, this really is personal."

"Huh. You're being alarmingly vague about this. Sounds serious."

"It is."

He's all gravity now, and she braces herself. "Okay. What is it?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"I'm at work. Why? What's going on? Now you're actually starting to scare me."

He's the one who should be scared, Barney knows. Robin's not going to respond well to this, but he knew that when he was weighing over whether or not he should say anything. "Would you happen to know if your dad ever did some wet work for the CIA in the early 80s?"

"Yes…." she answers cautiously, her guard instinctively raised at the mention of her father. She has no idea where Barney's going with this and she's leery of finding out.

"You're sure? He _told_ you that?"

"I remember the bedtime stories, yes. And, no, that is not a joke," Robin dryly attests. "Learning at the age of five that 'wet work' is a euphemism for murder is just one part of the well-rounded education my father gave me."

"Actually, when it's government sponsored they call it an assassination," Barney informs her. "Or if they really want to make it pretty it's a military operation with some fancy sounding code name."

"Anyway, yeah, he did," she spurs him on, impatient to hear what he's getting at.

"Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. of Vancouver?"

"Yes, that's him. Why? Is he in trouble with the U.S. government? Is he….wanted or something?" It sounds a bit Wild West to her ears once she's heard it aloud, but at the moment she can't think how else to say it.

"Worse," Barney reveals.

Robin holds her breath, wondering what could be worse. Is he already in prison? Has he been assassinated himself? Though she thought he got out of that decades ago.

After what feels like forever, Barney finally divulges, "He's in New York. Manhattan to be exact. Apparently he moved there a couple years ago. He lives on the Upper East Side, not too far from my apartment."

Reeling, Robin isn't sure which option would have been worse: wanted, dead, or this. "So my dad's been living in New York City for two years….and he never looked me up – or even bothered to tell me he was here when he knew I was moving to the city? He could have offered me a welcome from family, but instead he choice to tell me through my sister that I'd never make it."

"I'm sorry, Robin," Barney offers quietly. "I just thought you might want to know. Or shouldn't I have said anything?"

"No. I mean, yes. I would – I _do_ – want to know. It's not your fault, but….."

"Yeah. I know." She doesn't have to say it; they both know he's well aware of what getting let down by a crappy father is like. That's why this next part is going to leave her blindsided. "But look – and I realize this is going to sound crazy coming from me of all people – I have your dad's address, his phone number…and I think maybe you should go talk to him."

The silence that follows is deafening, almost tangible, because he senses what it is: the calm before the rising storm.

"Barney….what – ? _Why_ would you say that? What is this about? What are you trying to do with this?"

"I swear I didn't find him intentionally, Robin. I was looking into something else and – " He grapples with whether to say anything further, knowing he shouldn't have even said _this_ much. "I can't go into detail, but the case I'm working now has some ties to the Seattle area. I was going through some of those case files when his name came up. Scherbatsky isn't exactly a common name, _Robin_ Scherbatsky even less so. It was too much to be a coincidence. Even so, I didn't want to say anything unless I was sure, so I dug a little further. That's how I found his residence, marital history, the fact that he has two daughters."

"So _I'm_ in there too?" Robin interrupts, well on her way to outraged.

"It doesn't mention names, but it didn't take much to make that leap."

He can only hear her exasperated huffs of breath, and then: "Okay. So you found him. So what? It doesn't mean anything to me. It shouldn't to you. After everything I told you, what the hell would make you think it's a good idea for me to talk to him again?"

Barney expected this kind of reaction from her; it's exactly how he'd react if the shoe was on the other foot. That's why he can fully understand her reasoning. But understanding it doesn't mean it's in her best interest. "Telling you you're a disappointment and a failure undoubtedly sucks. There's no excuse for that. But – "

"No 'but', Barney. There isn't one that's close to good enough. And whatever happened to 'dads aren't the be all and end all'?" she quotes him on another, far different day – one when he fully supported her on the Dads Can Go F Themselves Express.

"They're not, it's just…whatever happened in your parents' marriage, it doesn't mean he didn't love _you_. He fought for custody of you. He didn't have to. You said he didn't even try to get your sister. That tells me you must have meant something to him."

Sure she did. She was a prize to be owned. Clay to be shaped into the mold that _he_ wanted – made even worse by the fact that his preferred mold was male.

The things she went through – both physical and emotional – the abuse, the mistreatment…..and yet she _still_ would have done anything to please him. She tried her hardest to fit the shape of what he wanted just so he'd be proud, so he'd feel like she was worth something and she in turn could feel it too.

Robin subscribes to Barney's same philosophy of being awesome instead, but when it comes to her dad she usually just gets angry instead – then depressed and hurt all over again. Which is why she could kill Barney for bringing her dad up in the first place!

Although, she reminds herself, Barney's still in the dark about the worst of it. Remembering that has a somewhat calming effect. "Look, Barney, I know you mean well, but there's a lot more you don't know. And if you did, you wouldn't be suggesting I ever see that man again."

"Fair enough. But I do know how much daddy issues can…." Fester. Stunt your life. Leave you with crippling abandonment issues. His mind readily fills in several applicable options. "How'd you put it? They really suck?"

"Yeeah." She stretches out the word, hoping that speaks for itself, because she can't bring herself to vocalize just exactly how much they do.

"Well, I know that firsthand. And clearly it still bothers you too. That's the only reason I suggested talking to him again."

"For closure," Robin infers, understanding a little better now. He's trying to help her, even though it is still wildly impracticable advice.

"Or, you know, to have a dad again. Either way. But I don't mean to pressure you," Barney softly submits. "It's just something to think about."

"….Maybe," Robin ultimately acknowledges. "Someday. He knows where to find me." That's all the more she says before going quiet

The idea of her being upset with him doesn't sit well with Barney. In fact, it grates on him in a way he finds impossible to ignore until he finally has to ask, "Are we good? You're not…mad or anything?"

She wasn't anyway, but the adorable uncertainty in Barney's voice is too cute for her to have stayed that way long. "No, I'm not mad. I just don't like to talk about, or think about, or even remember my dad."

"Really? I think about my dad all the time."

Robin smiles. "Well, yeah. It's kind of hard not to with his show on every day." She expects him to run with that, expects the two of them to ease pleasantly back into the silliness she finds much more comfortable, but he remains silent. It's perplexing until she realizes her faux pas. "Oh, I know it's not the same with a new host, but _The Price Is Right_ will always be synonymous with Bob Barker, am I right?"

"Actually – "

"What, you're gonna defend it?" she laughs. "You already told me you think the Drew Carey version is crap."

"It is. Doesn't even come close to comparing to Bob's."

"Don't you mean Dad's?" Robin teases.

Barney clears his throat, sounding strangely hesitant. "That's, uh, that's what the 'actually' was about. My mom said something the last time I Skyped with her that kind of let it slip that maybe – I mean it's _possible_ that Bob Barker….he's not my dad."

So _that's_ what has fathers so suddenly on his mind. From what he'd told her it was easy for Robin to deduce that, deep down, Barney knew all along Bob Barker isn't his dad – or at least he'd figured it out once he grew past the years of childhood – but he's never before suggested as much aloud, so she appreciates the momentousness of this and proceeds gently. "What did your mom say exactly?"

"She said, 'Barney, Bob Barker's not your dad'."

"Hm. Okay. Pretty clear then." The line goes tensely quiet, and when she hears what sounds like a scotch tumbler in the background at this time of the morning Robin knows it's time to level up. "Hang on. We need to do this on Skype. I need to see you."

Once they make the necessary switch, Barney – suited up but looking slightly disheveled, as if still in the clothes from the night before, and with scotch glass in hand; her ears didn't fail her – appears on her laptop. The look on his face is heartwrenching.

It brings to mind what he said to her before about why he'd so willingly believed Bob Barker was his father in the first place, why this must be killing him now. It's hard to say which is a worse: facing that your mother's been lying to you and your childhood notions were never real, facing that you have no clue who your actual father is and that you very well may never know his identity, or facing that she _herself_ may not know.

In the face of all that, Robin's left torn over how to respond. Does she answer honestly, pulling him along into the truth and forcing him to deal with this head-on? Or does she make up an explanation for what his mom said, furthering the fantasy?

Which should she do? Which would he _want_ her to do?

In the end, she decides he must be reaching out to her for a reason. If he wanted to continue in denial he wouldn't be bringing this up at all. He would have already dismissed his mother's comment as drunken nonsense or just misspoken words.

No, he's looking for honesty from her. He _wants_ them to be real – and, for him, she can do that.

"I know that must have been difficult to hear…."

She watches him down more scotch before she's met with a morose, "Yeah."

And he's just too sad, too upset for her to take. There's something particularly disturbing about seeing _Barney_ this way, stripped of his usual rascally charm. Just bare, broken and bleeding. It pricks at her heart in a way she can't define. She just knows she _has_ to make it better for him – right now, right away, as soon as possible. "But you wouldn't want Bob Barker to be your dad anyway. So he's famous? That just means he would have had the means to take care of you but chose not to. That's a bastard move if you ask me."

Barney kind of smiles at that. He knows full-well what she's doing, that she's actively trying to cheer him up but, from her, it's working anyway. "I never thought about it that way."

"Well, you should. What's more, I didn't want to offend you so I never said anything before, but I've always thought he doesn't wear a suit well either."

Barney's shoulders shake in noiseless laughter. "No, you didn't. Bob's dapper as hell."

"He really is," Robin relents with a grin. "But still. You've got to always pick your kid, right? Even if he was leaving for a TV show, you wouldn't want a guy like that for a dad."

"I guess not," he allows. "...Then again, we don't know that my actual dad is any better. He may have left us for something even less."

Mention of his 'actual dad' – without the benefit of a TV, fame, and fortune calling him away – leads Robin to the real reason this is killing Barney. He'd said it before himself: _It was nice having that presence in my life, to know he was there…that one day he might come back_.

Bob Barker gave him hope, hope that someday he could still have that father/son dynamic he so deeply craves.

Now he has nothing.

"Maybe you should ask your mom about your real dad," Robin suggests. "At least who he is….You know, for closure. Or who knows? Maybe even to have a dad again." It's what he suggested to her, meaning it's what he truly wants for himself.

"I don't know. I…."

"You can tell me, Barney," she assures him warmly.

"I don't think I'm ready for that….Maybe someday."

* * *

**January 17****th**

* * *

"Hey," Barney says, his mouth stretching into an easy smile the instant he sees her.

"Hey." Robin's answering smile is equal parts contentment and relief to talk with him again.

The last time they spoke they bonded over dads, though neither one said so out loud. It's one of the many unspoken truths in their friendship. Like the fact that she's fairly certain he gets her more than anyone else, something that's especially striking now, when her thoughts and feelings are so foreign to her new group of friends in New York. She knows he's the only one who will understand.

"Woah." Barney always enjoys their video chats, all the more so when she's the instigator – and well after midnight her time – but the first thing he notices tonight is what she has on. She's dressed to kill, decked out in a red satin dress with black lace trim. A red satin dress that's decidedly low cut and cleavage-baring, and he feels himself wanting her even from 2,800 miles away. "You look _hot_." The words spill out unconsciously, but he doesn't regret them.

"Thanks," Robin beams, pleased at his reaction. Ted had insisted she go with him tonight to Stewart and Claudia's wedding, despite the fact that she'd never before laid eyes on either one of them _and_ by the couples' reaction it seems he didn't even have a plus one. "I just got back from a wedding," she explains, adding with a shrug, "Some friends of the boyfriend's; I don't really know them."

"And yet he wanted you there with him?" Barney shakes his head, appalled at the rookie mistake. "You don't bring a date to a wedding! That's like bringing a deer carcass on a hunting trip."

She smirks at that. "Well, this prey would have much preferred to stay home. I'm not exactly a fan of weddings."

He shoots her a look of disbelief. "Are you kidding? Weddings are the best as long as they're not yours."

Robin hums softly, nodding her head to the side in acknowledgment of that fine point. "As weddings go, this one _was_ pretty amazing: hotel ballroom, glass chandeliers, expensive scotch, everybody all dressed up. He warned me in advance this was going to be a crazy-fancy black tie wedding, so I knew to bring my A game. I, in fact, brought it _so_ hard I made the bride look like a big white bag of crap!"

"You must certainly did," Barney grins. "Stand up. Let me get a better look."

She stands up for him, modeling the dress audaciously – stroking a pose, turning a full three-sixty, showing him every angle to its best effect.

He tsks his tongue, appreciatively watching her. "Where is your boyfriend? Why isn't he banging you senseless right now?"

Robin smirks again, eating up his flattery. "We had a quickie at his place," she tells him, sitting back down, "but I came home after, said I had to go into work early but, really, it was all just a bit too much."

"He wanted to do something weird?" Barney guesses. "Everyone's always so quick to condemn Rotating Vietnamese Shame Wheels, but it's only because they're not ready," he contends in frustration.

"No," she snickers, "it's nothing like that." Her voice drops into the hushed tones of a disclosure in confidence. "Just…all this wedding stuff." She takes a deep breath before revealing in horror, "He was super into it."

"Mm-mm." Barney shakes his head in sympathy. "You poor woman. The only thing he should be super into right now is you."

"Right?! But you should have seen him. You'd have thought he was the one getting married. He was all caught up in – and I'm quoting him – 'the romance of it; a little music, a little dancing, a lot of champagne, and' – "

"Your boyfriend's gonna have to find another gender for himself," Barney cuts her off, having heard enough, "cause I'm revoking his dude membership." After a beat he gasps, his face brightening in glee at his sudden realization. "You _are_ a lesbian, after all!"

Robin narrows her eyes at him. "Shut up. But the worst part is he _really_ thinks that's how it works, that life is some kind of Rom-Com. You just put yourself and the girl you like in a romantic setting, the stars line up, and shazam! Magical, soul mate love!"

Barney joins her in a shudder.

She sighs heavily. "At least the cake was delicious. I should have found out who made it so I can go back to that bakery; then the night wouldn't have been a total loss. I was going to too, but my boyfriend was being so weirdly dreamy about it all, he was glued to my side the whole night." After a pause, she giggles out loud. "It really was like his dude membership has this tiny little clause at the bottom stipulating '_Not valid at weddings'_. Something about them turns him into a starry-eyed twelve-year-old girl fantasizing about when it's going to be his turn."

"So on top of everything else, this boyfriend of yours is anxious to get married?"

Robin can't help laughing at the way he said the word 'married' like it's a fate worse than death. "I have never seen a guy so anxious," she confirms.

"You haven't met my friend yet," Barney chuckles, certain Ted's newfound obsessive desire to find "The One" easily tops however her boyfriend was behaving tonight.

"Well, my guy's biological clock is definitely ticking, let's put it that way."

"….Wow," he observes heavily.

"What?"

"It seems like you two have _nothing_ in common."

Robin chafes a bit at that. It's a hit unnervingly close to her own deep-seated concerns. "We may want some different things…have different outlooks, maybe." Uncomfortable, she takes a stab at some tension easing humor. "But no one wants to date themselves, right?"

"Wrong," he brazenly contradicts. "Everyone is in love with themselves and _would_ be dating themselves if they could."

"Not everyone is you, Barney. Haven't you ever heard of opposites attract?"

"Robin," he scoffs, "MC Skat Kat seems like a real bro, but other than the song when has that actually worked out? He takes two steps forward; you take two steps back? That just means you're getting _nowhere_. A fact you're well aware of, since the only one pleasing yourself in this relationship is you."

Robin blinks three times in quick succession. "What are you talking about?"

"You. And your little video," Barney says tellingly.

She huffs in exasperation. "_You're_ the one who told me to make that."

"Yeah, and it was a great idea."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is the way you're using it: as the main event instead of an enhancement." A little crinkle of confusion forms between her eyebrows so he explains, "If in some other…strictly hypothetical…far, far off world, you and I were da – dat – " The word trips on his tongue, getting stuck there. "Let's just say 'mixing it up' – "

"Mmm, you really how to flatter a girl," she interjects sarcastically, a bit of real hurt unconsciously tucked into it.

" – we'd be enjoying it _together_," Barney finishes. "And by 'it' I mean going crazy on each other while the video plays in the background. As it is now, with this guy," he claims, "the only way you can have an orgasm is by giving yourself one."

"I never said that."

"It was implied. And as you've pointed out, you're a very sexual woman, so I know the problem isn't physical. The problem is – dare I use his term on you?" Barney impudently proposes. "_Emotional intimacy_. More specifically, the lack thereof. It's a symptom of a dying relationship, Scherbatsky. Because 'opposites attract' doesn't work. Sure, you could be mature about it and do a 'him thing' one night and a 'you thing' the next night, but then you're a couple who's only ever half happy at any given time: thus, the self-pleasuring in the bathtub late at night."

"I'm not the one asking for late-night sexts," Robin defends. "And if you don't believe in 'opposites attract', does that mean you and Shannon had a lot in common?"

It's a low blow, one she instantly regrets. But rather than take offense at it, Barney seems to genuinely consider her question.

"Not so much, no," he eventually reveals, a bit of the vigor gone out of him. "But that just stands as a warning, doesn't it?"

Robin can't deny there's truth in what he's saying. These Skype sessions with Barney are the most refreshing part of her week; she finds herself consistently looking forward to them, even more lately.

She just has to _try_ so hard with Ted. She has to censor her behavior. There are so many things she has to keep from him: the smoking, her guns, her real number of past sexual partners. They've had to place the whole 'no kids and marriage' thing as a completely off-limits topic of conversation, but he still finds roundabout ways to sneak it in and try to manipulate her around to his side.

The whole thing can be so…._exhausting_ sometimes that seeing Barney, talking with him, just being able to be _herself_ with him, feels like coming up for air after you've begun to drown.

Barney shrugs. "Do what you want." A smile tickles at his lips. "Let me rephrase that: do _whoever_ you want; I always do. All I'm saying is you shouldn't be expecting 'happily ever after' out of Mr. Romance, with whom you can't see eye-to-eye on anything."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't believe in 'happily ever after' any more than you do," she says, and he tips his head in endorsement of that. "I only believe in 'right now'. And for right now….?" Robin sighs contemplatively. "For right now, it'll do."


	37. The Yips

_The Yips_

* * *

**January 21****st**

* * *

The second Robin appears on Skype, Barney dispenses with the preliminaries. No polite 'hello', just: "Why didn't you answer your phone earlier?"

She gestures down to her 'girl's night' clothes. "I was out with a friend. A friend who I met through my boyfriend."

"Who still doesn't know about me," he fills in the rest. "Got it."

"You admitted yourself, you're pretty hard to explain."

"Hard to explain we're just friends and not banging. Even _I_ don't understand that one. Still, that's no excuse to ignore a bro. I needed you, Scherbatsky!" Barney laments overdramatically.

"I called you back now, didn't I? Just calm down. What is it?"

"You'll never believe what just happened. Well not just, since you didn't answer," he corrects huffily. "More like an hour ago now."

Robin cracks an amused, if slightly impatient, smile. "What happened to you an hour ago, Barney?"

"A woman just rejected me!"

"Oh the horror," she responds in a deadpan.

"I walked up to her at the bar like usual and said 'Are you from Ireland? Because when I look at you my penis is Dublin'."

She gasps in mock surprise. "You're kidding me. That didn't work?"

"She just walked away with this look of half disgust, half pity," Barney tells her, his head falling low. "She didn't even have the decency to throw a drink in my face."

"And that's really never happened to you before?" Robin laughs. "Surely someone must have told you 'no' before. _I_ did."

"But pity, Robin?!" He shakes his head, confounded. "I was off my game. That line _was_ lame and beneath me."

"Tonight some guy tried hitting on me with: 'So where are you from, heaven?' I said, 'Yeah, I'm a ghost. I died fifteen years ago, like that pick-up line'." She shudders in repulsion. "Point is, everyone has an off night, Barney."

"Not me. No," he claims sinisterly, "this is something far more serious."

"Like what? A vast conspiracy to keep you from getting laid?"

"Worse. I'm afraid I have….the yips," Barney finishes with real fear in his voice.

"The yips? What in the world is that?"

"The yips happen when you overthink something so much that what was once common becomes foreign and you can't even make sense of it, like when you say a word so many times it starts to sound weird."

"Okay…I guess that's a thing."

"When you get the yips, even the simplest, most natural things, you can't do them at all anymore. It happens to athletes all the time, like the second baseman who suddenly can't throw to first. Trust me, Robin; you do _not_ want to get the yips – especially not the sexual yips. This is the worst thing that could have ever happened to me!" he wails, but then quickly backtracks, "Okay, second worst; I didn't knock some chick up."

"How do you know this wasn't an isolated incident?" she reasons. "What makes you think the yips are to blame?" A second after the question is out of her mouth, she wonders how and when it became so natural to just accept his Barney-isms without question.

"Because something else shocking happened tonight – and it happened right before I hit the bar and made the Ireland flub."

Robin unzips her knee-high boots, pulling them off and tucking her legs up beneath her on the couch, making herself comfortable for one of Barney's drawn-out stories. "Alright, tell me."

"I was at the smoothie bar at my gym out here, and guess who the mixologist was. Rhonda, my mom's friend from down the street when James and I were growing up. But here's the thing: she didn't recognize me. It didn't mean too much at first; after all, I am way more awesome now than I was back then. I mean, the suit alone," he brags, adjusting the knot of his tie.

"You were wearing a suit at the gym?"

"I'd already worked out, showered, and changed. I'm not a hobo. Anyway, that's not the point."

"Okay. Sorry. So what happened?"

"So I told her I'm Barney Stinson from Staten Island Boulevard. And she said, 'Hey, Barney Stinson from Staten Island Boulevard. What can I get you?'"

He pauses to let that sink in, but Robin only stares at him.

"What's wrong with that? That is her job, isn't it?"

"No." He shakes his head in dismay. "You don't get it. She didn't know who that was. She didn't remember me. I can't _believe_ she didn't remember me!"

"Barney," Robin sighs around a yawn, "I'm no expert on the yips, seeing as I've never heard of them before now, but your story doesn't sound like anything that could give them to you. It's not that big of a deal. A friend of your mom's has got to be, what, in her 60s now? That was a long time ago. She can't possibly remember all her old neighbors' kids. Just try not using such cheesy lines tomorrow and I'm sure you'll be back to sneaking out of unsuspecting women's beds in no time. And since it's so late here that it's already well into tomorrow, I'm gonna hang up now and go to bed myself."

* * *

**January 23****rd**

* * *

Robin answers the phone, still mostly asleep, with a groggy, "Hello?"

"Okay, it's definitely the yips."

Blinking, she stares blurry-eyed at the clock trying to make it out. "Barney, it's 4:14 in the morning. Unless you're dying, don't call me at 4:14 in the morning."

"I _am_ dying. Of the yips. I'm sure of it now. I struck out all night. It was a fiasco. It made the Dublin line look genius. It's like I can't even hit on chicks anymore!"

Robin pulls herself up to sit against the headboard, thankful that Ted was busy with work tonight and she didn't sleep over at his place like they'd originally planned. She can't imagine trying to explain this early-morning phone call.

"I can't believe Rhonda did this to me!"

Knowing she's not going to be getting back to sleep anytime soon unless she solves this for him, Robin asks, "Why? Why should this one woman – who's twice your age – forgetting you be so important?"

"Because. Because…" The truth wants to come bursting out; maybe if she has a proper perspective on this thing she can help him with it. But it's just too embarrassing.

"Because why?" She's met with silence. "Barney, I don't wake up at 4:15 for 'because'."

He sighs wearily, upset enough that he decides to just tell her. "Alright, story time. I was twenty-three and had been going out with Shannon since freshman year of college."

That little tidbit of information has Robin suddenly wide awake. "Wait. I thought you told me you were only with her for a year?"

He chuckles a little proudly. "I rounded down." But she doesn't laugh along with him; she stays tensely quiet. "I stretched the truth a little," he tries to her exasperated huff of air. "I wanted you to think I was out banging chicks," he finally admits sheepishly. "The truth is I wasn't even banging her."

"W-_what_?" Robin sputters, truly shocked. "You weren't banging – ? What happened to your oral prowess being a local legend the girls lined up to experience? What happened to your first time being at age sixteen?" She'd figured some of what he said was exaggeration, but that part seemed plausible enough.

"I lied, alright," he flatly reveals. "It's embarrassing, but Shannon and I….we were saving ourselves for marriage. So when we broke up I knew nothing about girls. What could I do but go to the one guy I knew who knew everything about girls? James."

She shakes her head, perplexed. "Your adopted brother, James? You partner, James? The James who is gay?"

"Yeah, but this was before he was gay," Barney shrugs, waving away that minor matter. "He told me I needed to find a girl and have sex with her ASAP because 'that's what dudes do after a breakup, even if the thought of doing that with a woman is gross'. You know," he realizes, "in hindsight I really should have figured out the gay thing back then. But he wasn't wrong about rebound sex. The problem was, as I told him, I was a little…."

"You were little?" she asks incredulously, wondering if _everything_ she's thought about his sexual prowess was made up. "As in your penis?"

"_No_, not my penis. Dear god, no. I was scared, okay? I wasn't yet the awesome Barney you see before you now. I was just a young, naïve, virginal kid who didn't know the first thing about seducing a woman. I didn't know what you should do, how you should start, where you should touch first. James warned me to just do it without thinking or I'd get the yips, and he was obviously right about that too, but at the time I was more concerned with _who_ would want to sleep with a brokenhearted, inexperienced hippy like me."

Now Robin is beginning to understand it. "That's where Rhonda came in."

"Rhonda 'Man Maker' French, that was her nickname. Needless to say, she had a reputation for sleeping around. She was a cougar before 'cougar' was a word. The paperboy, the guy who cleaned neighborhood pools, the Chinese food delivery boy – basically every young guy between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five."

"So…you and Rhonda," she concludes, trying to get past the gross-out factor.

"I know it seems messed up now," Barney acknowledges, "but back then it made so much sense for it to be her. I thought it would be easier because she knew me so well. Not as well as I thought, cause she accidentally called me Barry; I had to correct her. But that was _before_ we had sex. By the time we were finished, she knew me _very_ well. The circumstances of losing my virginity aren't something I'm exactly proud of, but there's no shame in the details, if you know what I'm saying," he boasts shamelessly. "That's why it just doesn't add up. How could Rhonda not remember me?"

She hates to bring this up, but there's one very logical explanation. "Well, no offense, Barney, but maybe it wasn't that good for her. I mean, it _was_ your first time."

"Please," he scoffs. "Robin, it's _me_. It was more than good for her. Don't believe me? Take it from the horse's mouth. Even with all the guys she'd been with, I left Rhonda breathless – and I wasn't a fraction as good at it back then as I am now. But she couldn't stop going on and on about how I'd rocked her world and it was the best sex she'd ever had. That part about losing my virginity was 100% true. I got the woman off from my very first time. Even if I was a bit quick on the trigger back then I was still a sexual powerhouse. That first time, that first orgasm my penis ever bestowed upon a woman, was the night that I was born. I rose like a phoenix from her bosom and strode into the world, Armani clad and fully awesome."

"Wow." It's the only thing Robin can say at the moment; she's too blown away. "That's…."

"You think less of me now."

"No. It's just a lot to take in."

And it is. Her first thought in processing it all is that Barney must have cared for Shannon a great deal to stay with her all through college and remain faithful to a woman when the two of them weren't even sleeping together. Suddenly she's overwhelmed by the feeling of playing second fiddle – which is just ridiculous because she isn't playing anything at all with Barney. _Ted_ is her boyfriend. And this was years ago; it shouldn't matter anyway.

Then her subsequent rumination hits: this was about more than just Shannon. It's much bigger than that. He didn't try to seduce Shannon when, despite what he thinks about himself back then, he probably could have. No, he came right out and admitted he was waiting until marriage. That was a personal choice, one that proves not only is Barney capable of monogamy even when completely deprived of sex from any source but there's also much more of a romantic to him buried deep inside than she ever suspected.

Then again, he did say that first time he had casual, completely meaningless sex was the night he was born – meaning, it was the night sensitive and romantic Barney died, or at least went into serious hiding.

Recognizing she's been quiet too long, Robin speaks up. "It surprised me, that's all. But look, Barney, I still wouldn't read too much into it. No matter how great the sex was, it was a long time ago. And if this Rhonda woman is as promiscuous as you claim, that's a lot of dudes to remember."

"Maybe," he allows thoughtfully. "Maybe you _could_ be right."

"I am. Now try to get some sleep, Barney."

They hang up after that, Robin's mind whirling with all this new information and Barney trying to cling to the hope of what she'd just said.

* * *

**January 24****th**

* * *

Concerned about him after their conversation the morning before, Robin initiates a video call with Barney on Sunday afternoon and is astonished and deeply worried to find him not wearing a suit. He has on a dark navy zip-up hoodie and grey sweat pants – and it's scary.

"What's going on?" she asks straightaway. "What happened? It's too weird not seeing you in a suit."

"I went back and talked to Rhonda."

"Barney…."

"I _had_ to know; I couldn't help it. Now I wish I never knew." He looks positively dejected. "I tried to jog her memory, and I did get her to recall one young man back then who stood out above the pack."

"Well there you go," she tries overly brightly. "That should make you happy. So where's your suit?"

"It wasn't me, Robin. I wasn't the one who stood out for her. There was Freddy Chibatoni, with the tongue like a gecko. Chaz Alderman, with hips like a woman but he knew how to use them. She remembered them _all_. But not me. She still didn't even remember that we'd slept together."

"Ouch."

"Wait," he laughs bitterly, "there's more."

"There's more?" she can't stop from escaping aloud. It's already plenty bad enough by Barney standards right now.

"It gets _so_ much worse. When she finally did remember the two of us having sex, she remembered the rest of the story. The truth of the story."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"What it means is my entire adult life has been a lie. It turns out back then Rhonda didn't even want to sleep with me. Oh, but the Schwan's grocery boy who didn't even shower was such a catch?" Barney adjoins resentfully. "No, James had to go to her and _beg_ her to do it. She said I was 'just a kid'. He had to cut a deal with her: she only had sex with me out of pity – and only after James bribed her by having sex with her himself first. And as if all that weren't enough, those compliments she gave me about being the best she'd ever had? That was a lie too."

"I'm sorry, Barney." Robin doesn't know what else to say. For Barney, being amazing at sex is an important part of his identity so this had to be particularly hard to hear. "But Rhonda's just one woman, just the very first – and like I said, none of us are very good the first time. What about all the women since then? _They_ weren't faking it."

"No, but this still changes everything. All subsequent worlds that I rocked were only so rocked because of the confidence I earned from said first world rocking, the one that turned out to be a lie."

"And now you need that sexual confidence restored," she deduces. "So why become this? Why didn't you just nail the first gullible blond you saw and let her screams of delight give you your sexual self-assurance back?"

"I thought of that. Why let the approval of one woman define who I am when I can let the approval of a gaggle of supermodels define who I am?"

"Supermodels travel in gaggles? Which supermodels would these be?"

"Last night I went to a Victoria's Secret after party. There were supermodels everywhere. It was the perfect place for Barney Stinson to be reborn."

"And?"

"And I was an utter failure. By the end I couldn't even form words. Seriously. I said 'Goobidy, goobidy, goobidy' to Adriana Lima."

"Woah."

"I know," Barney agrees, disgraced. "Finally, Heidi Klum just let me cry on her shoulder."

"Oh my god, Barney," Robin mutters, left speechless in the face of what no doubt was an utter failure in his eyes.

"But she gave me an important piece of advice and I took it. The only way to get rid of the yips is to go back to that first woman and earn it with her for real."

"You're going to sleep with Rhonda again?" Robin inwardly shudders at the thought of Barney having sex with a woman a good three decades his senior. It seems like such a waste of all he has to offer, but she wisely keeps that unruly thought to herself.

"I tried that but Rhonda refused, said she was watching _Wheel of Fortune_. I told her she could keep watching, I'd just face her toward the TV, but she swears she's not that woman anymore….So I guess I'll be this way forever," he declares glumly, deflated but resigned.

"Barney, we've been over this. Remember the horror stories I told you about my early experiences? It doesn't matter. _No one _is good their first time."

"But that's just it; _I_ was." It made him different and special. It's like he was the chosen one, bestowed from on high with sexual gifts unlike any other man who'd ever walked the planet. He was a virtuoso, an expert, a sexual prodigy. "At least I thought I was." Now he's a nobody, a nobody who was just as lousy his first time as any other guy – only _he_ had to have his brother bribe a woman to have sex with him.

Robin chews on her lip, her forehead furrowed with uneasiness. There's something amiss, something plain wrong about this picture, about Barney so despondent and so….in sweats. The ironic thing is he makes sweats look _good_. She'd actually be appreciating the way they hang on his body if they weren't so out of character, the uniform of a man who has lost himself.

"I hate seeing you like this…all mopey and suited down. It's like you're not even Barney. I swear, if I wasn't in a relationship and you weren't all the way across the country I'd be very tempted to go to bed with you myself just to get you back to normal." It's actually a surprisingly effective way to get a woman to not only sleep with him but be the one to suggest it. "In fact…if it weren't for the no suit thing I'd think this was a play." Then it hits her. "Wait a minute; you'd totally lose the suit to get a woman into bed. You _have_ before. Is that was this is?" she asks suspiciously, knowing Barney's not above lying about even this if getting laid is involved.

"This is not a play, Robin. My entire sexual history was built on a rotting foundation of lies. My whole identity is lost in a pit of menthol ashes. So no, not a play. This is my miserable reality."

Robin sighs, disturbed that she hasn't been able to get through to him. "I'd argue your sexual history is perfectly intact with only one singular tarnished spot many years ago, but this is your sexual self-worth so it doesn't really matter what I think. _You're_ the one who needs to be convinced. So tell me: how I can help; what do you need me to do?"

"There's nothing that can be done," Barney counters despairingly. "This is just who I am now."

"Barney – " she starts, but he's already ended the call.

Robin's left reeling. He didn't even make the usual flirtatious remarks about the two of them when she brought up offering to have sex with him. This really is serious.

She wants her Barney back, and the worrying thought that he's gone for good plagues her mind the rest of the day, weighing on her so heavily by that night at the bar the others actually ask her what's wrong.

* * *

**January 26****th**

* * *

It's been two days since she talked with Barney and given the state he was last in that's too long. Robin already determined she's going to call him herself, whether he likes it or not, if she hasn't heard from him by tonight.

So when she sees it's him wanting to Skype, Robin eagerly takes his call even though she's supposed to be on her way out to MacLaren's right now and this will undoubtedly make her late to meet Ted.

When he appears on her laptop her heart swells with happy relief. "You suited up! Is Barney Stinson back again?"

"Daddy's home," he smirks smugly, making her grin.

"How did it happen?"

"I took Heidi's advice."

"I thought Rhonda refused."

"She did. At first," Barney slyly reveals. "She tried to tell me sex isn't everything, claimed sleeping with her wouldn't solve anything and I should learn to enjoy simply having a conversation with a woman with no intention of scoring with her," he says, revolted. "Naturally, when she made us actually try that she realized how lame and boring it is and decided to let me nail her just for the hell of it."

"Charming woman. And?"

"She was panting so hard that for a second I was afraid I'd given her a heart attack! 'Oh my god, Barney, you really _did_ just rock my world. That was amazing. And I'm not lying'," he imitates her winded passion. "Of course, I already knew she wasn't. This time around I'm proficient in the female body – I'm like the Einstein, the freakin' Neil deGrasse Tyson of lady parts – and let's just say I had ample proof she wasn't lying."

"Gross." Robin makes a face.

"This time _I_ was the one lying when she asked if it was any good for me," he gleefully divulges.

"Well, I'm glad to have you back, Barney," she tells him, genuinely delighted he's his old self again.

He gives her a purely Barney look of sex and mischievous; she's missed that look. His glance travels over what he can see of her, admiring her black leather jacket and the snug yellow tunic underneath. "Now that I'm yips free, we have to return to a very important point I negligently let go before: did you really mean what you said?"

She meets his gaze questioningly. "About what?"

"Would you have really had sex with me to get my confidence back?" he asks, eyeing her roguishly.

"Oh. That." Robin gives a coy smile. "It doesn't matter. Like I said, you're there and I'm here. And I have a boyfriend. It was all hypothetical."

"But hypothetically," he pins her down, "would you have?

"Hypothetically?" she smirks, considering it. "….Maybe, yes. To help out a bro," Robin's quick to emphasize.

He lets out a rich, self-satisfied, distinctly dirty laugh.

"What?" she wonders. "I don't get it."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Barney raises. "It proves you know I would rock your world."

"What?" she laughs off his suggestion, but it doesn't do a thing to deter him.

"The only way to get my confidence back was by earning it, which means you never would have suggested even the possibility of us having sex if you thought you'd have to fake it. On the contrary, the _only_ way it could have helped me was if you were certain I would give you earth-shattering pleasure that would be vocally and visibly apparent." His eyes hold hers suggestively through their screens. "You _know_ I'd drive you out of your mind."

Robin honestly hadn't thought about that. _Is_ there truth in what he's saying? Of course she's never going to let on to him that she's wondering. "Or maybe I just know I'm really good at faking it," she claims.

"Uh-uh," he opposes self-assuredly. "No. Not buying it, Robin. That's not why. But I do believe you're an expert at faking it – no doubt earned through necessity with your current boyfriend."

Robin rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head and smiling. "You are such an asshole," she giggles. "And it wouldn't have mattered anyway since I wasn't your first….Speaking of, you were so broken up before I didn't get the chance to point this out to _you_. Do you realize that right as that was first happening, when Shannon was breaking your heart and you were losing your virginity to a woman old enough to be your mom, _I_ was just turning eighteen?"

Barney's mouth drops open in pleasant surprise. "Why, Robin Scherbatsky, are you saying you would have offered to take my virginity, old pro that you were?"

"Probably not. I never had a thing for hippies…Although," she reconsiders, "did you happen to have a mullet?"

"Wow, Robin. Your Canadian fed sexual fantasies will never fail to astound and amuse me. One thing's for sure though," he promises. "I would have finally shown you what it's like to have an orgasm _with_ a partner."

"But you just said she faked it that first time," she laughs.

"Maybe," Barney allows, "but with you it would have been my pleasure to keep trying till I got it right."

Such single-minded determination to please her sexually is inconveniently exciting, arousing even. Robin wishes her boyfriend had a bit more of that. She's sure Ted isn't just carelessly phoning it in, and it's not like the sex is _bad_. It's so much better now than in the beginning. Back then, it really wasn't great. He'd ask 'Are you finished?' more times than a waiter in a busy restaurant. A month in, he's figured out more of what she likes and now can get her there before he finishes himself. There are still times when after some awkward pawing around she'll just fake it, say 'Baby, that was great', and go to sleep, but for the most part it's satisfying. She wouldn't stay in a relationship if the sex was terrible. But it's still not the kind of sheet-melting passion Barney describes, the kind of magnetic chemistry she's already felt with him – and they haven't so much as kissed.

All the way across the country and several years removed, Robin figures it's safe to admit, "Hypothetically, Barney? I would have let you."


	38. By Any Means Necessary

**By Any Means Necessary**

* * *

February 1st

* * *

They're all scheduled for one of their normal video chat sessions at 9pm Barney's time, so when Robin calls him over an hour early he suspects something is up. Those suspicions are confirmed once they start talking. Though she does her best her to act casual and normal, he knows her too well and can see right through it. But it's when, ten minutes into their conversation, she sighs and says "I really wish you were here right now" that he starts to actually get a little concerned.

"Okay, out with it, Robin. What's going on?"

"I met my boyfriend's parents today."

"Oh-ho-ho," he stutters out with a chuckle, "that _is_ rough. If I were there I'd be pouring you a double right now."

"Too late." She brings her drink, the second of the night, into frame. "I already have. It was _awful_," Robin relays in dismay – and judging by her uncharacteristically forlorn expression she well means it.

"See, this is why you run for the hills before you ever get to this point."

She ignores that, though a part of her thinks he might be right. "I took the day off work and we all met up for brunch this morning," she explains.

"Brunch?" Barney repeats in revulsion. "Ech, that _is_ bad."

"It wasn't good, I can tell you that! It's not that they weren't nice people," she adds to be fair. "And they didn't pressure me or anything like that. But they're divorced and….well…." She hems and haws, still reluctant to voice it out loud. "They're basically us."

"Me and you?" he asks, confused.

"No. Me and my boyfriend. It was like looking at a horrifying version of what my future might be. His dad is this head-in-the-clouds romantic, while his mom is much more down to earth and practical, maybe even a bit cynical. His dad wanted kids, the perfect nuclear family; his mom wanted a career and to travel, have adventures. She didn't even want to go out with guy in the beginning, but he spent months badgering her until she finally gave in. Any of that sound familiar?" Robin poses ironically. "She got swept along by him, Barney, by all the things _he_ wanted, until one day years later they woke up and recognized they were both miserable."

She falls into doleful silence, and not knowing what to say he tries to cut the tension by joking, "Isn't that every marriage though?"

"Barney."

"Sorry. You're right. That's an awful lot to deal with at brunch. Way worse than just a clingy one-night stand who can't seem to take the hint."

"Right?" she laughs, and he's pleased to have coaxed a smile out of her. "Looking at them was terrifying. I don't want to be that. But suddenly over runny eggs and cold pancakes I realized that's the road I'm walking down. That could easily be us thirty years into the future. _We_ have different views on family, on life in general: we're them."

"So what are you saying?" Barney asks cautiously, needing this to be her idea. "You want to break up with him?"

"I don't know…." Robin admits eventually, and she really doesn't. "We just want different things. We're very different people. His mom said, 'When you don't connect on that many fundamental levels it's only a matter of time before you realize you're not meant to be together.' She was talking about her and her ex-husband, but she might as well have meant me and her son."

There are advantages and disadvantages to having a boyfriend in general and Ted in particular – and it would be different if she knew what the future held, knew what else was out there for her, had something more of a sense of security. "I feel like my life is in a good place right now. I have a career that seems to maybe finally be headed in the right direction. I have a group of good friends to hang out with, and someone who cares about me there waiting every night – what did you call it, sex on tap?"

"I believe I said 'on demand', but you captured the spirit of the thing."

"I haven't wanted to rock the boat so I've been ignoring it, but we're at odds about almost everything that matters…How long can that really sustain itself, you know?"

Even if they'd been doing this over the regular phone and he couldn't see the look on her face Barney would still be able to tell by her voice alone how conflicted she is. "Look, Robin, I can't tell you what to do but – "

"Really?" she interrupts with a hint of mischievousness. "I thought you specialized in teaching people how to live."

"Yes, but you've clearly been ignoring my teachings or you wouldn't have gotten yourself into a relationship in the first place."

"True," Robin nods dryly.

"What I was going to say is this has to be your decision. Other than my standard 'Don't Ever Get Involved' mantra, it's hard for me to give advice when I haven't seen the two of you together, haven't met the guy – and what's that other thing? Oh yeah, you _still_ won't even tell me his name," he reminds her teasingly.

"That's it?" she smiles glumly. "I was expecting something a little more concrete from my Broda."

Barney sighs. "Okay, how 'bout this: while ordinarily I'd hate to be the aider and abettor to a relationship, for you, I could make an exception," he offers, _really_ hoping she doesn't take him up on it. "I could talk to him, if that's what you want, feel him out for you as a friend. But then, once again, there's that tiny little problem that he doesn't know I exist. Of course, you could easily change that…."

Robin shakes her head 'no'. "It would be a bad idea. You know how guys are, Barney. So territorial and competitive." After a moment, she adds on, "And he doesn't know us and how we are together", which Barney takes to mean the way they flirt with each other. "If he knew we're so close, and that we still talk all the time – "

"And have late-night braless Skype sessions," Barney fills in for her.

She rolls her eyes, grinning at his clowning, at Barney being Barney. "How do you know I'm not wearing a bra?" Robin poses.

She thinks he's joking, he can tell, but he's quite serious.

Barney's eyes drift down to her breasts, going a bit hazy at his perusal. "Cause the girls look all soft and free…And your nips have made a very prominent appearance." He hums his approval, but she pulls the sheet up to cover her chest. "Oh!" he feigns hurt. "You'd deny a man far from home?"

"I'm sure you're seen plenty of them since you've been there."

"Still, I long for the sights of home," he replies, eyes glancing down to the offending sheet hopefully.

Rather than remove it, Robin goads him with, "I'll mail you a postcard of the Empire State Building."

"You're no fun," he frowns.

"Anyway, the point is it would just be best, easiest, if he doesn't know about you. Especially now, when we're having these problems."

Barney doesn't mean to ask it aloud but the questions slips out of his mouth. "So what happens when I get back? Are you defriending me?"

She lets out a huff of dark amusement at that. "I wouldn't worry about it. At the rate we're going you'll out last him, I'm sure." Reflecting on that seriously for a second – her closeness with Barney, the friendship that she couldn't give up for anything – a soft smile warms her expression. "You would anyway. Although, right now you're not being very helpful," she says, playfully ominous.

"I can tell you this: it hasn't even been two months since you've been an item, and in that short time you've already expressed unsureness about it more than once," Barney raises wisely.

"But is that _him_, or is that just me in a relationship? I mean, would it really be any different with anyone else?"

"There's only one way to find out…."

She understands his meaning immediately – break up with Ted and find another guy, _if_ she's so determined to be in a relationship at all – and it's not that she hasn't considered it herself. But, as Robin tells him, "It's not as easy as that. I've never been a gambler. What if this is as good as it gets? No one wants to throw away their sure thing."

"_Life_ is gambling, Scherbatsky. You moving to New York was gambling. Me walking into AltruCell that first day was gambling. You have to take chances to get anywhere."

Right now, depressed and more than a little buzzed, she's finding an awful lot of sense in what he's saying. "Maybe you're right. Maybe fear is just holding me back."

"So you're gonna break up with him?" Barney conjectures, trying not to let his enthusiasm at the idea show.

"I don't know yet. But I'm starting to think it might be the best thing for both of us."

"I'm only thinking about _you_, Scherbatsky. Do what's best for you."

When their call ends a few minutes later, rather than rush off to have dinner with James and then hit up the bars to find himself some local talent, as had been the plan up until now, Barney mulls over the conversation they just had.

When he left New York, he said goodbye to his happy, sassy, indomitable Robin, but since she got involved with this mystery guy she's troubled, conflicted, and doubting herself.

And he wasn't there to prevent any of it.

The situation is unacceptable. Which is why, here and now, he's resolving to bring this case in as soon as possible and get back to New York, whatever it takes. No more late nights. No more going out, period. He's determined to hurry this thing through by any means necessary. He may take some flack with Arthur for a rush job but he doesn't care; he's resolved to get it done, get back to Robin and fix whatever the hell this guy has done to her.


	39. Desperation Day

**Desperation Day**

* * *

February 11th

* * *

After another long night, Barney's just stepping out of the shower when his Robin cell rings. He looks over at it on his nightstand ominously.

The past few days she seemed better. Still, he hadn't been taking any chances and continued to hurry the case through, bullying James and the rest of the operation out here to pick up their paces to match his. Apparently it was the proper choice to make because a call from Robin at 1:14 in the morning, meaning after 4 her time, can't be good.

"Hey," he answers the phone.

At first he hears no reply, just a low sniffle and then: "Barney, it's me."

Robin even needing to fight back tears means something catastrophic has happened but he tries not to show his alarm, answering with a gently teasing, "I know it is. Remember? This phone is just for you."

"Oh. Yeah." It dawns on her then the rest of it: Barney in the FBI, covert operation, the time difference. She'd been so distraught she momentarily forgot it's the middle of the night for him. Not that it's much better for her….

An instant wave of embarrassment hits her. _What are you doing, Robin?_ She never should have called. She doesn't even have anything particular to say. She just needed to hear his voice, and she's mortified at that weakness. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He can tell she's been drinking, is in fact likely well on her way to drunk, which sharpens his concern.

"For calling so late. You were probably sleeping." A more humiliating option comes to mind. "Or having sex." She feels stupider still and kind of wishes the earth would just swallow her up; that would solve all her problems.

Barney laughs warmly, affecting complete nonchalance, hoping to get the reason for her call out of her and not spook her off the line. "I wish. No, I was just getting off work. You weren't interrupting anything."

"Good," trips off her tongue before she can stop it – and even _she's_ not sure if she meant it's good that she's not bothering him or it's good that he wasn't with another woman.

For a long drawn-out moment neither one of them says anything. There's just the sound of ice cubes clicking together in her drink as she takes another sip. Just the sound of his breath mingled with hers, and somehow that already has her feeling better. "Would it be verging dangerously close to the sentimental if I were to say that I _really_ miss you?" she wonders aloud.

"Nah. In cases of long distance separation the Bro Code allows it," Barney assures her softly. "What's wrong, Scherbatsky?"

The use of his pet name for her brings on a round of fresh tears, and to her humiliation she finds herself openly sobbing on the phone.

"Robin, what is it?" he asks patiently, if perhaps with a noticeable edge of urgent concern underlying his tone. Through her crying, he's eventually able to make out the words 'my dogs'. "Your dogs?" Barney repeats, latching onto his sole clue. "What happened to your dogs?"

"It all – " There's a snuffled, shuttered intake of breath as she tries to calm herself. "It all started when I got into a fight with my boyfriend."

Mention of her boyfriend has Barney immediately on high alert. "Did…did he hurt you?" Now there's barely contained steel in his voice.

It seems an unlikely scenario; Robin is tough as hell and has a penchant for hiding guns around her apartment. But domestic abusers can take their victims by surprise, and if that man laid a single finger on her he's as good as dead. With his connections, both legal and not, Barney knows of at least twenty people who can get rid of a body in a way it will never be found.

"No," Robin confirms to his relief.

"Did he hurt your dogs?" You never know; some people are sick bastards.

"No," she shakes her head, though he can't see. "Not really. Just listen."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"The fight started over exes," Robin begins. "He – my boyfriend – he has this belief that when you're in a relationship it's common courtesy to pretend you've never dated anyone else before that. He hates that I've had more lovers than he has; like, it _seriously_ bothers him," she explains. "He hates the idea that I've been with anyone at all, to be honest."

He knows her story is only just getting started, but before she says anything else beyond that it's already a problem for Barney. In this day and age, what kind of guy belittles a woman for being sexually active? That raises all kinds of red flags.

"I've never much minded _his_ past," she continues. "I never really thought about it, I guess. Obviously I don't want him cheating on me now, but single guys sleep around. They have exes; it's no big deal to me," she shrugs. "Then one night when I was staying at his place I found this bottle of body lotion and rubbed it all over, thinking he'd bought it for me – or for himself," Robin adds with a frown. "He's weird about products that way; you should see him with his hair gels," she clarifies.

"Anyway, it turns out the lotion was something left over from some girl he'd banged. He swore it wasn't like that – they didn't just bang; they'd actually dated – and he didn't even see how that only made it _worse_. So I yelled at him for letting me put on the moisturizer of one of his exes. I mean, that's a personal care item. It's gross. I don't even know her. And why is he _keeping_ that? Like, he wants to go back and relive her smell, the intimacy of that? It's weird. Then I asked, 'What else do you have from old girlfriends just lying around?' And it turns out his apartment is _filled_ with souvenirs from other women – including the sweatshirt I had on that very moment. Naturally, I was mad and wanted him to get rid of all those mementos." A little sound escapes Barney, interrupting her rant. "What?" she questions.

"It's just, I keep mementos too: bras, panties, nipple rings…."

"Nipple rings? What, do you bite them off? Never mind. I don't want to know." She shakes her head, focusing on the issue at hand. "The bottom line is I wanted him to stop keeping his place chock-full of all these memories of everyone else he's been with….It was like I could almost hear those women: 'Oh, he calls you sweetie? He called _me_ sweetie too.' Or 'I'm stupider, but my rack is bigger than yours'."

"So basically you were being insecure and doubting your awesomeness?" Barney deduces. "Well, don't. I don't care who this guy is; he's never had a girlfriend who measured up to you. Especially based on what you've told me about him."

"I'm _not_ insecure," Robin defends. "He just can't very well expect me to have sex with him in a place that's crowded with keepsakes of all the other women he's screwed."

"Fair point. You've got to at least hide that stuff in the back of the closet when you know another woman is coming over."

"Yeah well, I thought he saw the fairness of my point too, because he finally agreed to do it," she reports. "He said at first he was really bummed about getting rid of all his stuff but seeing how happy it made me made it totally worth it. I laughed and said, 'That's how I feel when I begrudgingly have sex with you when I'm really tired' and he said, 'Exactly. Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.' We laughed about that and it seemed like it'd be the end of it."

"Wait," Barney backs her up. "_Begrudgingly_ have sex? You would never have to 'begrudgingly' have sex with me, no matter how tired you are."

"Oh please," Robin says doubtfully. "Like my tiredness would stop you from wanting it."

"I didn't say I wouldn't want it. I'm saying, even tired, _you'd_ want it from me." He clicks his tongue at her. "I'm that good."

She doesn't argue the point because she's too riled up about this business with Ted – plus there's a part of her that suspects he's probably right. "That _should_ have been the end of it. But it wasn't. It just turned into some kind of warped competition for him: he'd packed up _his_ things, so he wanted me to do the same with _mine_. The thing is, I never keep anything from exes, and I told him so. I never keep anything. Except my dogs."

Barney gets a sickening feeling, having a fairly good idea where this is going.

"I told him those are living things so of course they shouldn't count, but he said I'd made him get rid of a cactus from an ex and _it_ was living."

"That's just being petty."

"I thought so," Robin agrees. "We kept fighting about it for days, even took the issue to our friends – who, by the way, all agreed that things with a heartbeat can stay. But he said I was being hypocritical; what was good for him was good for me, and he kept insisting I should have to get rid of all my dogs."

"What is the matter with him?" Barney demands. "Even _I_ wouldn't do that to a woman – and you're talking to the man who invented the ETR room. Has he never had a pet before?"

"He did have a pet growing up. A dog."

"Then what is this guy, a monster? If he had a childhood pet then he understands that bond, so how could he ask that of someone, especially the woman he's supposed to love?"

"And _he_ was the one who argued that just because you still have something an ex gave you it doesn't mean you're holding onto them. Well, that's a whole lot truer with a living animal than it is with scented body lotion," she snarks bitterly.

Barney's almost afraid to ask. "So….don't tell me you did it?"

"He pressured me," Robin offers desperately in her defense. "He made me feel guilty, like I was being a terrible girlfriend if I didn't." She knows that feeling all too well: falling short, wanting to please someone but continually disappointing them, never being quite good enough. She grew up living with that every damn day and swore she'd never have to feel that way again. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but what choice did I have?"

"Robin…" Barney can hardly believe what this man has brought her to. _He_ knows how much she loves those animals; surely the guy who calls himself her boyfriend must realize it too. "Go get them back."

"I _can't_."

"I'm sure we can buy them back. Whatever you need, I'll – "

"It's not about finding them or buying them back. I know right where they are; I left them with my aunt. But I can't keep taking and leaving them. The upheaval isn't good for them, and they've been there five days already. Plus, it's not just that. My aunt lives on a farm upstate, lots of grass and open country. When I saw them running around free on all that farmland, it seemed like maybe it really was the right decision. For them."

As much as he doesn't want to justify what this guy made her do, Barney must admit, "It does have to be nicer than all five of them cooped up in one apartment. At least for the bigger dogs."

"And I didn't want to separate them; they're all brothers….By the time I left they were settled and happy," she admits. "_I'm_ the one who's sad."

"You can always visit them on weekends. I'll go with you. Even if I'm still here, I'll fly over if I have to."

Barney's unconscious sweetness gets a small smile twitching to life on Robin's lips. "Thanks. But as much as I miss my dogs, that's not the thing that has me most upset."

"What is?" he wonders as that seems plenty bad enough on its own.

"After everything I went through making good on my end of things to please him, it turns out my boyfriend lied." A small, resentful laugh escapes her. "He never actually got rid of his stuff, as in threw it away. He just hid it somewhere, and when he thought I wasn't getting rid of my dogs he brought it all back into the apartment as revenge."

"Wow. That is _low_. What kind of a sick bastard is this guy?"

Even right now – upset and angry at him – since he's been so nice to her in other ways, Robin feels obligated to defend Ted. "To – to be fair, at that point he didn't actually _know_ that I'd given them away."

"Doesn't matter," Barney maintains, fuming. "He should have never asked you to do it in the first place." The more he thinks about it, the more it enrages him. "God, that makes me angry – angry for you, angry for them; it just makes me angry!"

…..And something else, something frightening, something he's loath to admit: pain at her pain.

But because he also feels a compelling need to make it all better for her, Barney lets his guard down a little further, though he laces it with a healthy dose of humor for safety. "Ask any of my last fifty lays and they'll swear I'm a coldhearted son of a bitch, but this story breaks even _my_ heart." That still sounds uncomfortably real to him, and he hasn't yet got a laugh out of her as he'd hoped, so he adjoins in a robot voice, "Feelings. Inside. Oh no!"

That has Robin giggling softly. "I _really, _really miss you."

Barney smiles, feeling ten feet tall, both at her laughter and her desire to be with him again. "I might be coming back sooner than I thought."

"Really?" she probes hopefully.

"I'm trying to." It's all Barney can offer at the moment, and that frustrates him. He's quickly discovering that caring about someone else is burdensome in a whole new way he'd never imagined as the three most important things in his life – his job, sex, and Robin – are all pulling him in different directions. Or maybe it's just the first two versus the latter. In any case, it kills him a little to hear the naked yearning in her voice to have him there with her. It kills him to know how low she must feel to be brought to such open vulnerability; in ordinary circumstances, never in a million years would Robin allow anyone to see her long for _anything_. And so, yes, it kills him a little to know all this while he's stuck here and unable to do anything about it.

His mind grasps at straws for something – anything – he can do to make this better. Luckily for him, he remembers such a straw is readily available. Because she delights in his stories, theories, and plays – and there's a doozy right on the horizon.

"But in the meantime, forget about this guy for a minute. Do you know what day it almost is?" he poses, hoping to use this particular innovation of his to cheer her up.

But Robin doesn't get it. "Thursday?"

"Yes, it's almost Thursday," he chuckles. "And that means _it's_ only two days away."

"What is? Valentine's Day? That's in three days."

"Not Valentine's Day," Barney scoffs as if the word itself is repugnant. "_No one_ waits for Valentine's Day. Dude's loathe it and chicks dread it. Which brings me to my point: loneliness. The looming specter of Valentine's Day fast approaching. The two key ingredients to my favorite day of the year: Desperation Day."

"That's not a thing," Robin laughs.

"Oh, it's a thing. Hey! Maybe _you_ might even be falling victim to it, with this whole boyfriend debate of yours. The phenomenon actually dates back thousands of years, all the way to ancient Rome and Saint Valentine. While he was performing illegal weddings in secret, right there by his side was his best bro, Saint Desperatius, picking off insecure bridesmaids. You see, Robin, every woman wants a date on Valentine's Day and that neediness reaches its climax – what up – on February 13th when they're down to less than twenty-four hours before the most important day on the chick calendar and they still haven't found a dude willing to buy them dinner in exchange for sex."

"You're a pig, do you know that?"

"I'm a visionary," he corrects, drawing another giggle from her. "Check it: I posted all the details to my blog at lunch." He shouldn't have taken the time out of work, but it really does look like things will be wrapping up soon; besides, he had to draw the line _somewhere_.

Barney's hears typing in the background and then: "Okay, here it is." The line goes silent as she skims it over quickly.

"No, read it out loud," he instructs, "so I know which part you're at."

"Fine. '_You're at the bar but the competition is tough. Chicks are pulling moves normally only seen backstage at a ZZ Top concert. How do you stand out? Give that besuited fella you have your eye on a Desperation Day_' – you have that copyrighted?" Robin pauses to question the little trademark symbol above it. "' – _card and make all his, I mean your, dreams come true_'."

"Scroll down," he says proudly. "I even sketched out the cards. Could I have made it any easier? All chicks have to do is print them out and they're good to go."

"Barney, a woman's always good to go if she's just trolling for sex. Some guy will always take her up on it."

"Ah, but she's not trolling for sex. She's trolling for a guy who will take her out again the _next_ day. Just read them."

Robin scrolls down, doing as he asked but not without adding her own commentary. "'_Will you be mine – right now?_' Ew. '_I Heart Three-ways_.' A bit on the nose, don't you think? '_Roses are red, violets are blue, you can do me in stall number two_.' Alright, that one's clever," she acknowledges with a laugh. "'_How can I bang thee? Let me count the ways: Cow Girl, Reverse Cow Girl_' – Okay," she cuts off, "that's enough."

"Keep going! There are, like, fifteen more positions."

"I'm not reading all the positions. You're lucky I'm reading the valentines. '_I would do anything for love…even that_.' Gross, Barney. What's this?" she asks, looking further.

"Oh. Yeah," he grins. "I made up my own special conversation hearts. Guaranteed to get more than just a conversation going."

"'_I'm bendy_; _They're real_; _I lick you_; _Yes 2 __.'" She shakes her head again, though he still can't see it. "There's something seriously wrong with you."

Barney just laughs licentiously. "Now there's only one thing you _can't_ do on Desperation Day."

"Please say slip something into her drink."

"Wherever you are or whoever you're under, you _must_ get home alone by 11:59 p.m. Otherwise, you're just on a date on Valentine's Day," he shudders.

"Hmm…." Robin considers it. Of course he's a complete sociopath, but his concept of Desperation Day is pretty smart, and she doesn't doubt that it gets results. What's more, in his own psychotic little way he _has_ made her feel better, even if she isn't any closer to an answer than she was before she called him. "All of this is truly fascinating, Barney, but it doesn't help me with my predicament."

"Which is?"

"Should I break up with my boyfriend?"

"After the dogs thing, you're still wondering?" Barney answers, like it shouldn't even be a question. "Did he at least feel bad when he found out you gave them away?"

"He did. And he apologized a million times, got rid of all his stuff for real, let me watch him put it directly into the dumpster. But….I don't know. I think the damage is already done. And it's not _just_ what happened with my dogs, or even just this fight. It's…other stuff too."

Barney nods, filling in for her knowingly. "His parents, the brunch, the whole opposites _don't_ attract thing."

"Yes, and even though he's constantly telling me how wonderful I am and how much he adores me, I get the feeling it's not _me_ at all. I know that probably sounds crazy, but I think it's this whole idea of what he _wants_ me to be that he adores so much." Robin stops herself; maybe she's starting to sober up completely now because she's suddenly uncomfortable, feeling like she's said too much. "But you're right; I've got to stop bugging you in the middle of the night. I have to figure this out for myself."

"Are you kidding?" he pooh-poohs. "You never bug me, Scherbatsky. Talking with you is the highlight of my day. Till I'm balls deep in some blonde," he appends, half out of panic and half because he knows she expects him to. "But I meant what I said: do what's best for _you_."

Once they've said their goodbyes and Barney's off the call he sinks down into the cheaply made chair of the apartment the agency is renting for him and pours himself a drink. It's obvious Robin's unhappy, to a point where he's concerned about her wellbeing if she continues to date this Svengali.

But there's something else revealing this conversation has brought to light, something that leads him to an epiphany even more important than Desperation Day.

If there's trouble in paradise between Robin and her boyfriend, that means there's an opening for _him_ – and he is _not_ throwing away his shot.

Whatever it takes, if he has to work day and night nonstop, he's bringing this in _now_ and getting back to Robin. He's going to show her in person what far better alternatives are out there. Namely, him.

* * *

The next two days go by in a blur – mostly because Barney's hardly slept such is his dedication to finishing this case ahead of time and under budget.

And he does, resulting in an arrest late Friday night.

Arthur, who has no way of knowing all that tenacity was because of all girl, is so impressed he campaigns hard to get Barney to stay on with the bureau. After weighing it over, Barney agrees.

Even without a personal connection to the case, he still liked helping people – that's what his blog's all about, right? And there's a certain perverse enjoyment in the secrecy and deceit, in the game of it, the one-upmanship, the challenge.

So Barney agrees to continue working undercover for the FBI, but only _if_ he has some choice in his assignments; he never wants to get sent off without his consent again.

Arthur agrees to his terms, and after forty-eight hours of working the case nearly 24/7, Barney is finally on a plane back to JFK.

He spends the entire flight nodding off, but the second his plane lands Barney doesn't hurry back to his Fortress. He doesn't stop at MacLaren's for a nightcap or an easy lay. He doesn't even surprise the gang. He doesn't do _any_ of the things expected of Barney Stinson once he's been rereleased on his beloved Manhattan.

No, the first and only thing he does is make a beeline to Brooklyn. To Robin.

They haven't spoken in two days and, showing up at her door very late on a Saturday night, he has no idea what he's going to say. For once, he doesn't have it meticulously planned out in advance. He only knows there's nowhere else in this world he'd rather be right now. So he lifts his arm and he knocks.


	40. Coming Home

It's never a good thing to hear an unexpected knock at your door when it's nearly midnight, and Robin's first thought is that one of the dogs got out. She looks around the apartment in dread only to remember a millisecond later that she has no dogs to get out anymore. She's hit with a now-familiar pang of loss at their absence but, fortunately, there isn't much time to reflect on that as her mind quickly turns to who _is_ at her door then.

Straitening her legs from where she has them criss-crossed up on the sofa, she sets down her glass of wine and walks toward the door. Most women would be afraid to answer their door to a stranger at this time of night, but Robin isn't most women. Besides, she has a loaded gun within reach in every room so if there is some creep out there trying to mess with her, he picked the wrong apartment tonight.

When she opens the door and sees who's standing on the other side, she's more shocked than if it had been a criminal. "Barney? Oh my god, what are you doing here?"

He plays it cool, as if his showing up here in the middle of the night when he's supposed to be nearly 3,000 miles away isn't anything at all. "The case is finished. The second it was done I couldn't get out of L.A. fast enough," he shudders.

Robin, for her part, isn't nearly as smooth at hiding her astonishment. "H-How long have you been back?"

"Uh…" Barney looks down at his watch. "Less than an hour."

"_What_?" she gapes. She expected to hear an answer like 'Since this morning', not that he'd taken a redeye and made her place his first stop. Just when she thinks she couldn't be more astounded, he leaves her even further dumbfounded. "You came here straight from the airport? You didn't even go to your apartment? Not even to change your suit?"

"Why?" he asks in a panic. "Is something wrong with Jefferson?!" He starts twisting around wildly, trying to see every last bit of fabric to verify that it's okay.

"No," she answers with a laugh. "You look….perfect." The word falls from her mouth of its own volition. Because he's here, suited up, not a hair out of place, all concerned for the outfit that he's named. It's just so very Barney, and she's missed him so much.

"You look perfect," Robin repeats happily, getting over her shock enough to be overjoyed that her friend is back with her again. "What am I doing? It's so good to see you. Come in." She gestures him into the apartment, closing the door behind them. "I'm sorry. You just threw me for a loop. I didn't think you'd be back for at least a few more weeks, and then here you are at my doorstep, even right after a long flight. I'm surprised, that's all. But it's a _good_ surprise. Sit down with me," she invites, loosely taking his hand and leading him over to the couch.

Except now that they're physically touching, it makes her aware for the first time of what she must look like, and Robin's cheeks lightly flush. "If I'd known you were coming I'd look more presentable."

She has on little red pajama shorts that are polka-dotted with the shape of tiny white moose and a grey t-shirt with a big maple leaf colored like the Canadian flag, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun atop her head. She's clearly dressed for comfort, not seduction, but the idea that she's in any way 'unpresentable' is insane to Barney, because she looks utterly gorgeous.

From the moment she opened the door he was struck with what a difference it makes talking over Skype versus seeing each other in person, face-to-face. It's not that he hadn't remembered Robin as gorgeous, sexy, beautiful. It's not that he couldn't see it with his own eyes over the screen whenever they talked. There's just something about being here in the same room together within reaching distance. Two months apart must have dulled it for his senses, how much more powerful that attraction is when you can vividly see, touch, and taste each other – but it's all coming crashing back now with dizzying intensity.

Oblivious, Robin sits down, muting WWN that's playing on her TV in the background. "So tell me all about it: how'd the sting go down?" Excitement sparks in her eyes and her tone deepens to just a touch breathy as she asks, "Did you catch the bad guys?"

It makes Barney's blood rush warm and low, though he still doesn't know just what she pictures that he does for a living, but her eagerness and his response puts into sharp focus exactly why he showed up here tonight. "Yes, but that's not what I came to talk about," he says, sitting down beside her.

"Let me guess." She rolls her eyes pleasantly. "You couldn't wait to come over and rag on me in person about all the hot sex I'm _not_ having now that I'm in a relationship." She shakes her head at him, smiling. "I'm glad to have you back, but I can't say I've been looking forward to – "

"No, Robin, I really did come for a reason," he stops her, and she's surprised – even a little startled – by his seriousness. "The last time we talked you seemed so upset, and so…not yourself. I wanted to come make sure you're okay."

"Oh." She blinks three times. "Well…that's sweet, Barney."

"And I wanted to come tell you – " He grabs her gaze unwaveringly as he candidly blurts out, "I think you should break up with your boyfriend."

"I'm sorry, what?" Again, that was the last thing she was expecting.

It's out there now, and Barney continues undeterred. "You've been upset and unsure what to do. You wanted my advice, so I'm giving it: you need to dump him. Get rid of him, right away. That guy's bad news. I know I've given you grief about what a loser he is and, I don't know; I've never met him, maybe he's not. But I do know you, and I don't like what's he's done to you."

Robin blinks again in rapid succession.

"What happened with your dogs was just the last straw – a huge last straw – but only one of many, and it illustrates the whole problem. Sure, maybe your dogs are better off out on an open farm," he allows, "but that's just a coincidence, not what he had in mind, not why he asked you to do it in the first place. The very idea that this guy would want you to – no, _demand_ you to – give them up no matter how much that would hurt you….God, Robin, don't you get it? When it comes down to it, this guy doesn't have your best interest at heart. He's thinking about _his_ interests and how you can best fit into _his_ plans. So with all of that, unless this guy has got some prize hog…" Barney looks to Robin with his eyebrow raised questioningly.

She shrugs, admitting, "No more than five and a half."

"See, that's not anything special. And you're Robin freakin' Scherbatsky. What exactly is this dude bringing to the table? If you have to be with someone, you should be with someone who appreciates who you are, not who tries to change you into someone else. You should be with someone you have fun with, not someone who makes you question everything about yourself. You should be with someone who makes you happy, not who makes you feel like there's anything – not. a. damn. thing. – wrong with you. You should be with – "

_Me. You should be with me_, something inside him calls out. But he tells that inner voice to shut up.

"Actually, you shouldn't be with anyone. Not in a 'relationship'," Barney relays with sarcastic air quotes. "You and I are alike that way; we're not built for emotion and all that lovey-dovey crap. But if you feel like you absolutely _must_ be with someone, be with somebody, anybody else but the guy you're with right now."

He braces himself for an argument, maybe even to be kicked out, but after a beat Robin looks at him and says, "I know."

Barney stares at her. "Come again?"

"I know," she reiterates, and it feels like a giant weight has been lifted from her shoulders just admitting as much out loud.

"What's that now?"

"I said, you're _right_."

Barney gives her a suspicious look as if he doesn't quite trust it and half-expects her to pull out on him one of those guns she was relying on before.

"You're not going to yell at me," he questions, "or even cuss me out a little?"

"No," Robin answers with a half-smile. "I'm saying I agree with you. I have to break up with him."

"Because of what I said?"

"Yes." She shakes her head. "I mean, no. I mean, I _already_ knew it. You just confirmed it. I knew it, but I didn't want to know it, you know?"

He shoots her a look but concedes, "Weirdly enough, I do."

"I just keep thinking about what his mom said that day at brunch – otherwise known in my mind as The Afternoon from Hell – when she insisted we go to the ladies' room together. She told me, 'On some level, I always knew', and it's true. I did too, from the very beginning. I knew we were never going to work out, that it was never, quote-unquote, 'meant to be' the way he thinks it is. That's why I didn't want us to go out in the first place. And it's only become clearer the longer we've been dating. Because you're right," Robin acknowledges, her confidence growing as the whole uncensored truth of her feelings comes spilling out, "whether it's his fault or not – and I'm not saying it is, but – being with him makes me feel so _bad_ about myself. He makes me feel bad about how important my career is to me, about the things I want out of life, even about the number of guys I've slept with."

No sooner than the words are out of her mouth she starts to feel guilty about criticizing Ted to someone who doesn't even know him. Maybe she's painting an unfair picture; after all, it hasn't all been bad. "He's not a monster; I need you to know that. He's a good guy, and I don't think he does it _intentionally_, but it's still there, that feeling that I just don't measure up to his expectations." She sighs heavily, reaching for her nearly empty glass of wine. "And I'm tired of feeling that way," she says, draining the glass. "The things he wants, the person he wants me to be, it's just not who I am, and I'm tired of feeling like that's a bad thing, like it's some failing in me."

"Exactly," Barney agrees, touching a fingertip to his nose to indicate she got it right on. "Because it _isn't_. It's not about you. There is nothing wrong with the Barneys and Robins of the world just because we don't fit into everyone else's precisely shaped box." But even in the midst of a serious adult conversation, because he's still Barney, hearing it aloud, he snickers to himself. "And, trust me, that's a problem I've had all my life, not quite fitting all the way into a chick's box."

Robin laughs a little, nudging him with her shoulder. "That may be true of the Robins of the world, but there _are_ no other Barneys. Just you. _Luckily_," she teases. "The world can only handle one at a time."

Barney slings his arm around the back of the couch behind her. "I'm glad I could help you make up your mind."

"Me too." She lets out a long, contented breath of relief. "You wouldn't believe how freeing it is."

"Cutting loose from that noose around your neck? Uh, _yeah_ I would."

But it's not without bitter-sweetness, she realizes, when she thinks of what this will do to Ted. "I just wish it wasn't such bad timing. He has this big Valentine's Day dinner planned for us and, knowing him, he'll go all out."

Barney gives her a warning look, sensing relenting, so she continues with determination, "But I'll just have to tell him anyway. I can't keep pretending things are fine anymore when I know they're not – and that's gotta be even more true surrounded by hearts and flowers."

He squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. "Why don't I pour us a real drink?" he says, getting up. "You still keep your scotch in the same place?" She nods, and he goes to grab the bottle.

"When you get back," Robin calls into the kitchen, "you can tell me all about L.A.."

"All about it? Geez, Scherbatsky. It's not like we haven't talked at least twice a week while I've been gone."

"Well, tell me about the bust then, about the FBI and what you decided; if you'll stay with them or not. Anyway, I know _you_," she mirrors his words, "and I know you've saved up at least a dozen stories."

Walking back into the room with two full glasses, Barney winks at her. "You bet I have."

* * *

AN: Thank you, everyone, for your kind reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story and sorry to leave you hanging, but I can't resist a good cliffhanger! I'm working a more demanding schedule right now and I was updating my other story, which explains the lapse in updates to this one (don't worry, I have no intentions of quitting either story), but I have a long weekend ahead and hope to be at work on the next couple of chapters.


	41. After 2am

Barney finds _Lethal Weapon_ playing on one of the action channels and they half watch it while they talk, despite Robin still insisting it's a rip-off of _Mackleroy and LeFleur_.

She's detailing another reason why when she cuts off, remembering. "Hey, you gave up your Desperation Day for me."

"I did." He sighs wistfully. "And it comes but once a year, a magical night when a 10 has the self-esteem of a 4 and the depraved enthusiasm of a 2."

With a laugh, Robin responds, "I'm sorry for your loss."

As much of a loss as Desperation Day actually was for him, Barney still doesn't regret his decision, and he hadn't meant to make her feel bad about it. "Nah, it was worth it," he says, tilting his head toward her. "Now I'm sitting here with not just any 10 but one who's almost as awesome as I am."

The sentiment makes her smile and unconsciously lean in a little closer to the comforting warmth of his body. "But, technically, it's not Desperation Day anymore. It's after midnight; this is actually the fourteenth. So I guess it is a good thing you're here with me. Otherwise this could be considered a date," she points out, turning her head to look fondly over at him.

The moment Barney sat back down with their scotch he'd stretched out his arm over the back of the couch again. After such a long flight, it was understandable; no one could fault them for that. But at some point during the first half of the movie they'd gotten cozier and his arm ended up directly around her shoulders, which puts them a lot closer than she realized – a fact that is abundantly clear now that his mouth is in such close proximity to hers.

It's dark and it's late, and she hasn't been in the same room with him for months. The atmosphere's suddenly heavy with romantic tension, and the only thing Robin can think is that he has the bluest eyes. His eyes remind her of the ocean in Vancouver, not because of their color but because of the life they have to them, their expressiveness and how they change with his moods. From the soft baby blue of a moment ago, just like the still ocean on a tranquil sunny day, to a dark midnight blue when he's angry or indignant that calls to mind the violence of a hurricane. Or, the most dangerous, when his eyes go that vivid sapphire of rolling ocean waves whenever he's feeling passionately turned on, like that night at The Lusty Leopard. Most of all, Barney's eyes remind of her swimming in the ocean back home because of their depth and how, as they're doing right now, they can inescapably pull her in stronger than any undertow.

Seeing her expression, their color steadily deepens to sapphire, and she knows she's in trouble. "Good thing it is you," Barney answers thickly, those eyes of his holding hers spellbound, blue on blue.

When he leans in just a hair, his heavy-lidded gaze slipping down to her lips, Robin wonders if the pull between them has always been this strong, this intense. She knew it was there before he left, had already experienced it many times. But _this_, this is something heady and potent and…inexorable, like it's not a matter of 'if' but 'when'.

Did two months apart dull her memory of it? Or has it actually gotten stronger over time as they grew closer, knowing each other longer and sharing things with each other they've never shared with anyone else? She isn't sure but, whatever the reason, that overwhelming attraction is here with them now, a third living entity in the room.

"This _could_ be considered a date, and I can't have that," he says. Looking back up, his features twist into a scowl. "A date on Valentine's Day goes against everything I believe in."

And just like that, the tension eases and they're back to being bros like it never happened, as if they hadn't just wavered on the precipice of tearing each other's clothes off.

"On Valentine's Day or any other day of the year," she playfully retorts. "It's the whole 'date' part that makes you shrivel up and die inside."

Barney smirks at her teasing, following suit. "I'd better watch myself then. You used to say the same thing, and now look at you: dug in a hole so deep you've got to tend to the messy business of letting this poor bastard off the hook face-to-face." He elbows her gently. "Unless you want to borrow my breakup form letter."

She doesn't smile or react the way he thought she would. Instead, she has an odd look on her face and he has the feeling he's put his foot in his mouth with that 'poor bastard' comment. And just when she was happy and laughing again, just as things were light and fun and sparky between them. _Stupid, stupid, thoughtless_, he inwardly berates himself. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad about…"

Robin waves him off. "No, I knew what you meant. I'm just – " Stopping short, she debates whether she should say it out loud. "It's funny…I feel more myself with you than with him." Or with anyone else, if she's being honest. "I guess that says a lot about my boyfriend." She lets out a cynical huff of laughter. "Or just about how much I suck at relationships."

She expects him to say that if she'd done more sucking the relationship would have survived, but when his response comes it surprises her.

"Not this one," he tells her definitively. "You don't suck at our bro-lationship."

Robin smiles softly. "Is that a word?"

"It is now."

"You don't have a copyright on it, you know. I already – "

"Shhh. Watch." Barney motions to the TV. "You're gonna love this part…."

* * *

Watching the movie, they get closer and closer until their bodies are touching, pressed together from shoulder to knee. Eventually _Lethal Weapon_ turns to _Lethal Weapon 2_, and at some point Robin falls asleep on him.

Slowly coming to awareness again, she opens her eyes and blinks groggily at the TV as Riggs and Vorstedt face off at the docks, scattered drug money all around them. In the next second, she realizes her head is lying tucked into Barney's neck. Her hand is draped over his thigh, and his arm has moved from her shoulders to across her back, his fingers resting loosely near her waist.

When she turns her face up towards his, she sees that he's awake, looking down at her. "I'm sorry," Robin says sleepily, removing her hand from his leg. She doesn't move away though, doesn't even lift her head from his shoulder as she stretches against him. "I didn't mean to doze off. But you didn't have to stay."

"Yes, I did." She gives him a questioning look and Barney explains, "You were on me."

"Oh." Now she lifts her head. "Sorry. You should have woken me up."

He can tell she's embarrassed and he grins. "I'm kidding. I was asleep too." He was, but not at first. For a few minutes after she nodded off, he just watched her. It was a rare moment to survey her every feature without being caught at it; that's how he fell asleep.

Smiling along with him, she lets her head fall back drowsily to his shoulder. "You're jetlagged. What's my excuse?"

"It's almost 3 in the morning. You don't need one."

Robin turns her body slightly beneath his arm, making herself more comfortable, and in the process it presses her nose further into his neck. "Mmm," she hums languidly, closing her eyes, "I forgot how good you smell. Even after a six-hour flight."

"You shouldn't have forgotten," Barney responds, his hand molding to her hip. "I gave you a bottle."

"I know, but it's not the same," she answers without thinking, her eyes still closed, breathing him in. "It smells different. I think your body chemistry must do something to it."

"Oh ho-ho," he smirks at her.

She lifts her head again, suspicious of his smartass tone. "What?" she questions warily.

"You just inadvertently admitted that you kept it," he reveals, more smartass than ever. "Not _only_ kept it, but you've been smelling it while I was gone."

Crap. He's got her there. She thinks quickly, shooting back, "How do you know I didn't give it to my boyfriend?"

Barney frowns at that, until: "Wait a second." He sniffs the air like her Podengo used to when he caught wind of a squirrel. "Do I detect…?" He dips his nose into the hollow of her throat, following along to where her t-shirt stops just at the top of her cleavage. "You've got some on now!"

"Have not," she protests through giggles. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His smirk broadens. "Oh, Scherbatsky, you have such a tell."

"What? I do _not_."

"You giggle when you lie. Not a little white one, but an outright whopper makes you fall into a string of giggles every time."

Robin pushes off him to sit up straight. "I think you really are jetlagged."

Feeling charitably, Barney lets it go with a smile. "Then I guess I better get home." He moves to get up, but she stops him.

"No," she says softly, settling back against him, "you should stay."

With that invitation, his eyes go to hers, holding them.

"You – you're obviously tired," she reasons, "and it's a long drive back to The Fortress. Plus…I need you with me so I don't chicken out in the morning." There's more truth to that statement than she's proud of. "You can sleep here." His eyes search hers, so she's quick to clarify, "On the couch. I mean, it's comfy enough you already fell asleep once, right?" she jokes.

With Robin leaning into him again, it does feel mighty comfy just exactly where he is. "Alright. If that's what you want. I _am_ tired," he offers, providing an easy excuse.

"See, there you go." She stretches her legs up onto the couch behind her, really lying against him now. "And you won't even have to bang for roof tonight."

Barney's eyes go to hers again. That inconvenient sexual tension is back and Robin wishes she hadn't said it. Because the two of them banging tonight, for roof or any other reason, isn't funny at all. Just the opposite; the idea is far too desirable.

Rushing to change the subject, she latches onto the first thing she can think of. "You hate my boyfriend, but you'll love my other new friends. You have to meet them." But then it hits her. "What am I saying? They won't _be_ my friends anymore," Robin realizes sadly, "not after the breakup. They've known him longer. Of course they'll stay friends with him and drop me. They're his."

Barney runs his hand down her arm to rub her elbow supportively. "You'll always have me. I was yours first." With Robin warm and cozy tucked under his arm, he doesn't regret the loss of these friends at all; who needs them when he's got her?

She shouldn't regret them either; she's got him, and if it's broadening her circle of acquaintances that she'll miss, he still plans on taking her to meet the gang. But, first, there's someone else he'd like to introduce her to. "And I've been thinking…." He clears his throat, mainly as a stall tactic, before charging ahead. "I want you to meet James."

Robin looks up into his hopeful eyes and feels something melt within her. Barney is a man of plays, aliases, and agendas. His private life, his _real_ life, he doesn't share with virtually anyone. For him to have extended her an invitation to meet his quasi-brother means a lot. She's truly in his inner circle now. "Arrange it," she smiles. "Anytime."

Barney smiles back, relieved. "We usually do breakfast together on Sundays," he puts out there.

"Great. We'll see if he can meet us tomorrow at this little place I go to now. It's delicious."

"Okay, it's a date." Then he realizes how that sounds. "Well, not a date; not a _date_-date."

"No," Robin grins. "Cause it's Valentine's Day."

"And it's us," Barney chuckles.

She nods. "Right."

"Right."

She sets her hand to his knee, pushing off his leg to get up. "I'm going to bed. Make yourself at home. At least get out of that coat and shoes." Knowing what he's about to say next, she anticipates him. "Jefferson won't wrinkle if you lay him nicely across the chair. You discovered that yourself the night you Naked Manned me."

"Ha-ha, very funny."

Now it's her turn to chuckle. "Night."

* * *

That could have been the end of it. It should have been. Would have been, except Robin remembers as she's settling into bed five minutes later that she doesn't have her glass of water. She always likes to sleep with bedside water in case her throat gets a tickle or she just gets thirsty in the night so, yawning, she flips back the covers and swings her legs down onto the floor, heading for her door and down the hallway.

She makes it back to the living room just in time to see Barney laying the last piece of Jefferson over her arm chair, now standing there in just his boxer briefs, his eyes trained on her. It's "The Naked Man" incident all over again, and like then Robin feels her resistance weakening; it's no wonder that play works two out of three times.

She'd just kind of stopped short at the end of the hallway, but now that she's regained a few brain cells from the temporary hormone hiatus they went on, she's trying to think of something witty to say, or to at least cover for her momentary lapse in remembering how to walk, when Barney beats her to it.

He gives her a smugly sexy look that she knows if he were still dressed would've been accompanied by smoothly straitening his tie. "I should have known a fanatic like you wouldn't miss an opportunity to see the gun show," he says, broadening his chest and squaring his shoulders so she can view his muscles in their full glory.

Robin blows out a sarcastic puff of air strong enough to make several strands of her hair billow up. "Don't flatter yourself," she scoffs. "I got up for a mug of water to take back to my bedroom with me."

"You do realize how made-up that sounds, right? But that's what you're going with?"

"It's what I'm going with because it's the truth, Barney."

"Mm-hm. In that case, if we're going with implausible sounding excuses, you won't mind if _I_ just duck into your bedroom with you to, ah, look for my tie?"

"Nice try," she retorts. "But you forget, I'm not one of your dumb bimbos. You can't lose a tie in a room you've never set foot in. And 'look for my tie' is yet another of your internationally recognized euphemisms for sex now?"

"If you want it to be." He nods to her with a wink and matching click of his tongue.

Ignoring how sexy that is – because it really, really shouldn't be for numerous reasons, not least of all because of how cocky he is – she insists, "I just want the water."

Barney shrugs, relaxing back down onto the couch and replying, "Your loss."

Robin has a feeling it just might be but sidesteps the area quickly on her way to the kitchen – although that really isn't much help either as it's open to the living room, leaving Barney and his chiseled body still clearly in view.

Turning, she yanks open the refrigerator door with more force than necessary, making sure to keep her back turned to the other room while she fetches her Canadian flag mug from the cupboard.

The unanticipated encounter with nearly naked Barney has left her flustered – her heart speeding up, that swoop in her stomach, her breath quickening excitedly – and it's a feeling she doesn't like at all. It's much too high school for her taste, something she thought she outgrew long ago, but it's here and it's distracting.

She wants Barney physically, and there's no surprise there. However, what's more, she's attracted to him emotionally now too. After all the fun they've had, all the talks and their teasing of each other, it's not just that she desires the hot male body in front of her; that she would understand. But she craves sex with _him_ specifically. More than just a sexual itch that needs to be scratched, it's the 'with Barney' part of it that matters, and that knowledge is irksome, untimely, and alarming.

Alarming enough that she opts against the water, instead pouring the remainder of the red wine bottle from earlier into her mug. By the time she's finished returning the carafe of water untouched into the refrigerator, Barney has spread himself out temptingly over her cushions. Robin avoids glancing his way as she crosses back through the living room – better not to skirt temptation with the way she's feeling tonight – and hurriedly mutters, "Good night. Again."

"Wait," he stops her, sitting up enough so that his head pokes up above the back of the sofa and he can give her a mischievous smirk. "I just want to say, if you need to watch the little video you made before you go to sleep…." He clicks his tongue approvingly. "Fine by me. I won't mind overhearing any moans," he adds lecherously.

She may be inconveniently turned on by him, but Robin's no swooning maiden and with a smug look of her own, she gives it right back to him. "Don't project _your_ nightly sleeping habits onto me. But because I'm feeling hospitable, the same goes for you." Rethinking it, she frowns. "Just don't get anything on my couch."

He laughs wickedly at that. She's not sure if it's at the implication, or if he truly does have plans to stain her fabric once she goes to bed – Lord knows under a black light his apartment would make even CSI cringe. Either way, it's so typically Barney that it makes Robin smile and shake her head at him. "Idiot," she grins, starting back toward her room.

"Hey?" he calls out again.

"Yes, Barney?" she answers, now sounding a little annoyed.

"I'm glad you finally made up your mind," he expresses genuinely. Robin waits a beat for the punchline, and he laughs. "No, there's no joke here. I really am glad…It's good to see you back to yourself again."

She's a little surprised at his sincerity, although she shouldn't be; Barney has an uncanny ability to switch from jokes to candor at speeds high enough to give others whiplash.

"It's good to have made up my mind," Robin admits. "I'm glad you came over here tonight. Thank you for that. You try to hide it under layers of depravity, but you're a good friend, Barney." She pauses a moment, then pins him with deadly eyes. "And this part doesn't go outside this room but…I'm lucky to have you."

Barney grins. "Of course you are."

She laughs despite herself, shaking her head at him again, only this time her shoulders also shake with amusement. It's a sight that sends an affectionate warmth through him.

"This doesn't go out of the room?" he checks, dubious. She nods solemnly and it satisfies him enough to quietly divulge, "I'm lucky to have you too, Scherbatsky."

In that split second – she doesn't know where the thought comes from – Robin wishes _he_ were her boyfriend; wishes he could get them both a glass of water, and then come to bed with her. "Night." She offers him a quick smile, then darts into the hallway in confusion.

Ducked safely around the corner where Barney can't see her but she can still see him, she allows herself the indulgence of fully taking in his shoulders, pecs, his abs….and she imagines it: he'd climb under the covers with her, give her that look – eyes definitely the deep sapphire blue that makes her heart race anytime she sees it – and he'd pull her flush against him until she can feel every part of his body pressing into hers with a delicious pressure they both crave. His hands would slip under her shirt, searching out bare skin; her shirt would be the first thing to go. And then –

_Wait_, the thought cuts in, abruptly suspending her fantasy, _why can't he_?

Why can't he come to bed with her for real, right now?

He's single. Soon she will be too.

He'd be open to it, she's sure. A one-night stand? Barney, of all people? Please, there's no question.

And, Robin recalls, Barney's also the one who originally proposed they have a friends-with-benefits sitation….in which case, maybe it wouldn't have to _only_ be one time. Maybe they could make this a standing arrangement.

There are all the same reasons not to, she knows. Those same warning bells are going off in her mind.

Just not quite loudly enough.

Because she's missed him so, _so_ much. And now he's right here in the flesh, _all_ in the flesh – has he been working out more, or has he always been this muscled? Or is it just that Ted is soft in comparison? – and she's wanted him since the night they first met.

So there are all the same reasons not to. But, right now, she doesn't really care.

It's decided; tonight, she's going to hook up with Barney.

She's going to _finally_ hook up with Barney. Finally be the one he presses inside and calls by name as he drives them both out of their minds.

But she won't cheat.

She made herself that vow years ago. She will never be a cheater like Simon, like her father. So before she does any kind of hooking up, she has to call Ted first. Even though she's already made up her mind and the relationship is already over in her heart, they'll be no fooling around – in any way, shape, or form, she admonishes herself lest Lil' Robin get ideas of her own – until she's officially broken up with Ted.

Scurrying into her bedroom, Robin checks the clock.

3:07.

It's a terrible time to call someone over a non-emergency, and an unconscionable time to break up with someone.

But as far as Robin's concerned this _is_ an emergency. Because she has to be honorable about this – anything else is out of the question – and yet there's only so much longer she can hold herself off from going out there to Barney. Now that she's opened up the possibility, her body and its urges are clearly running the show. Without even thinking, she finds herself changing into a negligee even as she hits Ted's number on speed dial.

Gulping her wine against her suddenly dry throat, she listens as it rings on his end. But after one, even two attempts to reach him it just keeps going to voice mail.

That's not like him. Ted's a fairly light sleeper, and he always has his phone on the bedside table. No matter what time it is, he'd answer. Especially seeing a call from her at this time.

The only explanation is he must not have seen it. Maybe he got up to use the bathroom?

Robin decides to try again in five minutes, sprucing herself up in the meantime. She lets down her hair and runs a few straightening fingers through it, applies some quick makeup since she'd washed it all off her face earlier.

She really hopes Barney doesn't fall asleep out there while she waits. Not that the promise of sex – sex he's been wanting for months – won't get him up, pun intended, but she wants him absolutely wide awake and aware for their first time.

When she's finished, Robin gives herself an approving onceover in the mirror: sexy spaghetti straps draw the eye down to deep pink lace cups and a sweetheart neckline that reveals ample cleavage before flowing into a sheer baby doll negligee that stops at her upper thighs, under which you can plainly see her bare body – innie bellybutton, flat waist, the curved flare of her hips – and the tiniest matching lace thong covering her essentials….all the better for him to slowly peel it off.

Barney will be stunned at this sudden about-face to her 'no sex, bros only' policy, but at least until his mind kicks back in enough to pounce he's going to enjoy what he sees.

With that thought of Barney pouncing in mind, she tries to hold herself off from obsessively dialing Ted but only makes it to the four-minute mark before she capitulates and calls again.

Ring 1, her body is buzzing with anticipation.

Ring 2, she's growing impatient.

Ring 3, Robin's heart starts to sink.

Ring 4, frustration is gnawing at her.

"Pick up! Pick up, Ted!" she whisper-yells. "Where _are_ you?"

She stabs the 'END' button on her phone and begins pacing the room, her body practically vibrating with need now that she's given her imagination full rein. After all, she could be having sex with Barney right now!

Three minutes later, Robin tries yet another call to no avail. After leaving a message this time, she flops down onto her bed in exasperation.

She wants so very much – seriously, she's in heat here – to go out to Barney, but she _can't_ yet, not in the present circumstances. Until one relationship box is officially and legitimately checked off, no one else is getting into _her_ box. It's perhaps the only promise she made to herself that she will never, ever break.

Still, she keeps her cell phone clutched in her hand, awaiting Ted's return call. In the meantime, she soothes herself by closing her eyes and envisioning how it will all go down.

….Maybe _he'll_ go down, like he's always sworn he's so good at. Imagining that, Robin eventually drifts off into an exhausted, sexually charged sleep.

And Ted's call never comes.

* * *

AN: Fun fact – If you've ever seen the movie _Two Came Together_ where Cobie Smulders plays the ex-girlfriend, the negligee she wears in that film is what I was picturing here.


	42. Brunch, Part 1

**AN**: Thank you for all your reviews. For those growing impatient for Barney and Robin to get together, sorry but I did warn you right at the outset that this was never going to be a quick get together. I realize I've been writing this for a long while now (simply because I do have a day job and a life and can't dedicate all my time to it) but in the story world it's only been a few months. Remember, it took Barney and Robin four story years to finally get together on the show and another three after that to stay together. Keep in mind, all of this is a 'butterfly effect' AU that follows a loose outline of the canon show, and right now (with Ted and Robin dating) we're only in the Season 2 phase.

* * *

**Brunch, Part One**

* * *

Robin's dream breaks as suddenly as a bubble bursting in the bath and she scrunches her eyes closed tighter, clinging to the swiftly-fading periphery of unconsciousness. It's already hazy: her and Barney, on a beach somewhere, mostly undressed; that's about all she can still hold onto, but the sense of enjoyment lingers on.

A horn honks loudly beneath her window, making it difficult to savor even that, and something itches at her chest just annoyingly enough to ensure she won't be fading back to sleep to recapture the dream.

She reaches up to at least relive the prickliness at her chest and her fingers come in contact with lace rather than the soft cotton of her maple leaf t-shirt. That's when it comes crashing back: her plan to go out to the living room and seduce Barney. Well, less seduce and more simply jump him where he lay on her couch. It had seemed like a good idea after a few drinks – who's she kidding? It _still_ sounds good to her now – but she's so glad Ted unknowingly blocked them by never answering her call.

Despite what they've been going through lately, Ted's a good guy and a great friend. He deserves better than to be dumped just like that over the phone in the middle of the night. As uncomfortable and agonizing as it's going to be, she owes him a full-on, in person break up with the chance to ask questions and hash it all out. Robin shudders at the thought.

Rolling over above the covers where she fell asleep the night before, Robin lands on something hard and lifts her hip to fish out the offending object: her phone, and it's dead. She must have similarly rolled onto it in the night, keeping the screen lit till the battery drained. Sighing, she tosses it to the edge of the mattress and flops back over onto her back, taking stock.

As disappointing as it was to have missed out on the pleasure she and Barney might have had last night, it was right that they didn't. Even in the light of day, her mind hasn't completely ruled out Barney's old suggestion of some kind of friends with benefits thing, but to jump him now when he's only just gotten back – and likely tired, and neither one of them is thinking straight – and she's trying to break up with Ted in one breath and breathe the next into Barney's mouth would have been a poor choice all around. She needs to give herself time to clear her head, get some perspective and closure on the Ted situation before she lets Barney into her bed.

_If_ she ever lets him in her bed, she corrects herself.

It's going to be a little weird going out there and seeing Barney this morning, but she reminds herself there's no real reason to feel awkward. He has no idea what she almost did last night – and she intends to keep it that way.

* * *

Out in the living room, now fully re-suited-up, Barney grumbles into his phone while simultaneously trying to keep his voice down. "For the hundredth time, I told you, it's not a big deal."

"You have literally never introduced me to a girl before," James retorts, considering that fact alone evidence enough.

"She's not 'a girl'."

"Okay, and now you're going all Gloria Steinem on me? This is even more serious than I thought."

"No." Barney shakes his head in exasperation, keeping half an ear on the sound of the shower safely running in Robin's bedroom, ensuring he won't be overheard. "I meant this isn't still third grade, James. It's not 'who likes who' and some girl giving you cooties."

"Yeah, cause now you're much more likely to be the one spreading disease," his brother quips.

"_Hey_."

James recognizes the edge of legitimate annoyance in Barney's tone and eases back. "Sorry, bro. But you can't blame me for being justifiably taken aback."

"Maybe not – _if_ I were trying to introduce you to a woman in the way that you're saying. But I'm not. It's not like that." Barney's jaw sets because, despite his protests, there really isn't any way to explain this without it sounding high school. "Robin's about to break up with her asshole of a boyfriend and she's really upset that all their friends are going to choose him and dump her. There. Is that explanation enough?" He sighs, grasping at patience. "I'm just trying to show her she doesn't need them; there are other options. It's not a big deal, and it's not only about you. I'm going to bring her into the gang too."

"That just makes it an even _bigger_ deal," James heckles in amusement.

"Stop trying to make this into something it's not. Now are you going to show up to brunch, or what?"

"Listen to you, going to brunch!" the older man laughs.

"She's Canadian; they're into syrup," Barney defends with a shrug. "Her friends got her hooked on this place – or maybe it's the other way around; I'm not sure – but it's only 'brunch'," he says, putting the same sickening emphasis on the word that James had, "because I was too jetlagged to get up any earlier. So are you coming or not?"

"Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss this for anything."

* * *

After a quick stop at The Fortress so Barney can shower and change out of the same suit he's been wearing for more than twenty-four hours, they head out to brunch to meet his brother.

There, Robin and James get on well almost instantly.

Robin's not exactly the warmest of people persons, but she's a reporter so she's good at turning on the friendliness, and James has always had a natural way of setting people at ease; it's made him a key asset to the bureau. Of course, Barney has that same way with people – except that Robin knows him well enough by now to see through it.

In any case, Barney's charm isn't even needed. By the first five minutes in, put-on politeness gives way to genuine enjoyment of each other's company, and by the end of the meal the two are joking like old friends.

"Now that I've met someone else who knows Barney," Robin says, shooting him a sly, sidelong smile before focusing her attention back to James, "you have to settle a bet for us."

"Oh Lord." James rolls his eyes. "What kind of sexual favors are at stake?"

"I wish. It's worse than sex. Winner has to buy the next six months' worth of Cubans."

"Ouch," James sympathizes.

"Hold up. Wait a second," Barney cuts in.

"Ah-ah." Robin shakes her head in protest. "No stalling, Barney. Take your loss like a man."

He smirks wickedly. "Oh, I'll take what you're offering like a man, alright."

"What are you talking about?" She eyes him suspiciously.

"You just came on to me," Barney boasts, visibly pleased with this turn of events.

Robin laughs outright. "In what world? How did you hear _any_ of that as a come-on?"

Undaunted, he reveals, "You admitted you wish our bet was for sex with me."

For half a second she's inwardly flustered, as she actually hadn't put that together until now, but she responds completely blasé. "Uh, yeah, because Cubans are expensive. I may have gotten a promotion but I'm still living on Metro News 1 salary."

"So then you're saying you'd prefer to prostitute yourself instead?" Barney ups the ante, using her own logic against her.

Never one to admit defeat, Robin reasons, "Not to some random dude, no."

"Just to me." He's got that _ah-ha!_ look on his face. "Which brings us right back to square one and how badly you want to have sex with me," he self-assuredly concludes.

That cockily raised eyebrow on anyone else would be irritating, but on him it makes Robin have to bite back a smile. "It brings us back to how badly you want to stall James from losing you this bet," she rejoins.

James jumps at the momentary break in their banter to get a word in edgewise. "So _what's_ the question?"

It's not that either of them forgot his brother's presence, per se; it's just that it had become superfluous during their little exchange, when so often the world shrinks down to only the two of them. "The question is," Robin begins, turning back to James, "just how many of Barney's stories are made-up? He says no more than half. I say it's closer to 83%," she says smartly, rattling off his go-to statistic.

James considers it and decides, "That depends on what your definition of 'made-up' is."

"Don't try to Clinton me," she cheerfully disputes. "You're as bad as Barney."

"But Bill had a point," James argues. "Usage of a word _does_ matter. If you mean 'made-up' as in completely fictitious, then Barney's right."

"Ha!" Barney crows.

"_But_," James puts a stop to his premature celebration, "if you mean 'made-up' as in heavily embellished, well, then it's gotta be up by 90%."

"So _I_ win," Robin grins.

"No one wins," James asserts, "because you failed to properly define it." He shoots a meaningful look to Barney on the word 'define', because even a small child could see that the woman he calls his 'friend' and 'bro' is anything but.

They clearly have something between them that goes well beyond friendship. James didn't even need to meet Robin to know that. He'd spent the last months witnessing Barney hurrying back home so he wouldn't miss her calls, and going on and on to him about what an obvious mistake she was making with that loser of a boyfriend she'd found. Now that he's seen the two of them together, it sticks out right away that they noticeably want to bed each other. But if one of the two of them isn't ever man enough to admit what they're _not_ saying then it's never going to go anywhere and they'll be stuck in the sexual purgatory of the 'friend zone' permanently.

His point either goes over Barney's head or he simply choices to ignore it, as Barney merely replies, "Whatever. I totally win."

Robin shakes her head at him, laughing. To James, she says, "Thanks for meeting us here. It really did help take my mind off the ugliness that's going to go down tonight."

"I thought you said you _didn't_ have to have sex with Barney?" James shoots back.

"I _like_ this guy," Robin beams. Pushing back from the table, she announces, "Before we take off, I'm going to hit the ladies' room. If the check comes, I've got a twenty in my purse." She stops short, glancing at Barney distrustfully. "You know what, never mind." She grabs her purse strap from around the rung of her chair and puts it over her shoulder.

Barney shrugs. "We both know I was gonna pay for yours anyway."

"That's the privilege of being the girl," she smiles.

"Yes, and the privilege of being the guy is finally collecting on all those pay-outs," he says, to which she makes a disgusted face. "Don't blame me for the ways of nature, baby."

"Exactly what you said to your last bedpartner after she complained, 'Hey, _I_ wasn't finished'," Robin retorts, turning on her heel.

Barney grins delightedly, his eyes following after her. When he looks back, James is staring at him with some weird shock and awe combination.

"Oh my god," James says slowly.

"What?"

"You're in love with her."

Before he has a chance to answer that, Barney sees something that rocks the accusation clear out of his head. When James said 'You're in love with her', Barney's eyes had by instinct strayed back to Robin's departing figure, and as she passes by the front door on her way to the bathroom a man suddenly takes hold of her wrist.

Across the room, Robin whirls about, startled by the unexpected physical contact.

"Ted?" she sputters, somewhere between nervousness and guilt. "What are you doing here?" She glances over at Barney, _really_ not wanting this run-in to happen. There's no reason for them _ever_ to meet when she's breaking up with him tonight, but now that's Ted's shown up here there may be no avoiding it.

"I was looking for you," Ted answers, a soft affection warming his face. "Sorry I didn't answer your calls last night. I couldn't sleep, so I went out to my drafting table to get some work done on the new building. My phone was in the bedroom, still on vibrate from when I went to the movies earlier." He wants to but doesn't add 'to take my mind off things'. "I tried to get you this morning, but it went straight to voice mail."

"My phone's dead. I haven't had a chance to charge it." Dread fills Robin as she sees from the corner of her eye that Barney has gotten up from their table and is now approaching them.

"I'm so glad you called," Ted blissfully murmurs, reaching for her.

Barney immediately recognized his bro and it was a surprise to see him speaking to Robin, and even more of a shock that they apparently know each other. But nothing could have prepared him for watching as Ted takes Robin into his arms and kisses her deeply.

And, in that moment, Barney puts it all together.


	43. Brunch, Part 2

All at once it's like Barney is twenty-three again, walking into The Java Joint and seeing Shannon kissing Greg.

Greg and Ted are nothing alike, and _he's_ barely recognizable as the same man he was back then. Nevertheless, it's that same feeling all over again. Robin isn't his girlfriend the way that Shannon was, but Greg was never his friend the way that Ted is, so it kind of makes it all even.

After the initial punched-in-the-gut feeling, Barney's mind reels attempting to make sense of it, of how he could have _missed_ it.

But then how could he have ever seen it coming?

He knew they both were in new relations, and they both had an introduction to the parents around the same time, but there must be thousands of couples doing that at any given time in New York City. Still, he feels like an idiot.

And has Robin known all this time and kept it from him, he wonders?

It seems highly unlikely given the nature of the conversations they had about her boyfriend and their deteriorating relationship. If she knew that he and Ted knew each other, surely it would have come up then, when she was seeking advice as to whether or not she should stay with him. Barney can only conclude that Robin is as much in the dark as he's been.

Needless to say, Ted turning out to be Robin's infamous boyfriend complicates things immensely. In fact, 'complicates' is probably the understatement of the millennium.

Because, without knowing who he was, Barney hated the way Robin's boyfriend treated her. He wrote the guy off as a complete jackass, and now to find out it's actually his best bro? What does that mean? Is his friend really a jackass underneath it all? Is there more to the story, to Ted's side of it? Or is it just that it's different when you know the _woman_ in the relationship too? He himself would come out as worse than a jackass in the lives of countless women out there; he just never had to experience it from their side. It kind of makes him rethink his fake proposal play, if only for a split second.

Of course, it complicates things too because he told Robin to dump Ted.

What's more complicated yet is that, even knowing Ted is her boyfriend, Barney still wants her to break up with him – perhaps now more than ever – for Robin's sake as well as for Ted's. He strongly questions how Lily allowed this to happen in the first place when the two of them are clearly a disastrous match. She was probably distracted by everything going on between her and Marshall, but that's little excuse to let her renowned meddling skills slack when they were needed most.

Then there's the additional, whole new level of awkward due to Barney and Robin's secret shared knowledge that she _is_ about to dump her boyfriend – and it's not some nameless schlub who had it coming; it's _Ted_.

And, most complicating of all, despite his knowledge of an imminent breakup and despite the fact that Ted _is_ his friend, even so, Barney is insanely jealous of him for getting to be with Robin these past couple of months in ways that _he_ has never had a chance to experience.

At least he gets the satisfaction of seeing Robin pull away from the kiss rather uncomfortably.

Once they're no longer kissing and Ted notices Robin eyeing something over his shoulder, he turns around and gets a surprise of his own. "Barney?"

"Ted." Barney nods to him, uncharacteristically sober; it should be a clear sign for the architect that something is up.

"I'm sorry, you two know each other?" Robin asks, stepping back so Ted's arms fall completely away from her.

Barney's gaze catches Robin's. "Ted is the lame friend who waits for the Slutty Pumpkin and thinks 'You just fell out of heaven' is the greatest pickup line of all time."

Robin blinks, shocked, and Ted finally catches on.

"Wait, _you two_ know each other? And what does the Slutty Pumpkin have to do with anything?"

They both ignore that last part. "Barney and I met last fall at MacLaren's."

"I've been teaching her how to live in exchange for inside female intel, since Lily refuses to help me get laid anymore."

Robin's eyes fly back to Barney. "You know Lily and Marshall too?"

"Yep," Barney confirms, feeling an inward twist of bitter irony.

"They never mentioned you," she says just as James walks up to join them. Robin regrets it as soon as the words slip unthinkingly from her mouth. She can tell Barney's hurt by her statement, though he hurries to mask it.

"I'm the fourth member of the gang. Technically, the first member, the _founding_ member," Barney confidently declares, ignoring the part of him that taunts _Of course they don't talk about you. _You_ were always the one struggling to press the connection while they would've just as soon gotten rid of you_. "They live for my stories."

"I'm sure it was only because you were away and there was a lot going on," Robin offers as an excuse.

"Psh, _must_ have been."

"It was just Barney withdrawal," she tells him with a tender smile. "It's a hard thing to kick."

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'withdrawal'," Ted corrects. "It's more that Barney is _really_ hard to explain to newcomers. I thought it best to wait to drop the Barney bombshell until he was back in town."

"I'm like trying to explain the ocean to a blind man," Barney chimes in grandly. "You can describe it all day, but the only thing that truly does it justice is experiencing it for yourself."

"Well, you didn't have to worry," Robin assures Ted. "I've already seen and swam in that ocean." James gives her a pointed look, but Robin already realized on her own that it unintentionally sounded like innuendo. "What I mean is, I've not only met Barney; we're already friends."

Ted laughs cheerfully, not bothering to question it. He's so over the moon that his and Robin's little tiff is over that he honestly doesn't care about much else, least of all the particulars. "What a crazy world. All three of us – four of us," he corrects to include James, "knew each other all this time and we didn't know. This is what's so great about this city!"

"_Not_ knowing your neighbor?" Barney questions sardonically.

"No, all the _possibilities_ there are just waiting for fate to show us. And it did," Ted concludes lovingly to Robin, sliding his arm around her and gathering her against his side. To Barney he says, "_Robin_ is my new girlfriend."

"I gathered as much."

"Actually, not so new anymore," he revises happily. "Tonight we're going out for our two-and-a-half-month anniversary."

"That's not a thing," Barney objects.

"I keep telling him that," Robin agrees. "We're mostly just going out for Valentine's Day. Which is enough."

Ted grins to Barney. "She hates Valentine's Day almost as much as you do. So how come you never mentioned Barney to me?" he asks Robin, answering his own question a moment later. "Oh. You probably haven't talked much, with him all the way in L.A.. He hasn't been on your radar since we met; that makes sense."

"Not really," Barney cuts in.

If not the others, James notices the undercurrent of at least one-sided tension between the two men that's only heightened when Barney oh so helpfully mentions, "We've been Skyping the entire time. How often, Scherbatsky?" He looks to Robin, purposefully using his familiar nickname for her and silencing the inner voice that calls him on doing it territorially. "Like what, two, three times a week?"

"Something like that," she mutters, bending to adjust the top of her right knee-high boot just for the distraction.

"Hm. You guys have been talking all the time." Ted digests that. "Then it must have never come up because we've had other things to talk about recently…" He clears his throat, looking down and then back up, reluctant to admit there was ever any trouble in paradise. "We've been having a few bumps lately," he hesitantly fills Barney in.

"Bumps?" Barney can't resist saying, though he already knows it's a hell of a lot more. "Is that so?"

Ted is quick to downplay it. "Oh, no major problems."

Robin smiles. "Major Problems," she says, saluting Ted. When Barney looks at her like she's grown another head, she reddens slightly, explaining, "It's just this thing we do. I – I guess I say 'major' more than I realized."

Barney shakes his head fondly. "A Canadian thing."

"Yeah, and so Ted teased me by saluting like a major in the army."

"She thought it was funny," Ted interjects, grinning, "so now anytime anyone says 'major' or 'general' or 'private', we salute."

"It's just a little inside joke," Robin finishes, making light of it.

"Hmph," is all Barney says – more a sound than a word – not bothered by that at all. Nope. Not one bit. And why should he be? _They_ have their own inside jokes, he thinks resentfully, like the time he taught her to masturbate on tape so she could get off that way since her boyfriend wasn't hacking it.

But then Barney reminds himself this isn't Ted's fault. Ted didn't know anything about them when he met Robin. Not that there _is_ a 'them'. And it doesn't matter anyway because their romance isn't going to outlast the night. So Barney just nods and tries to act like he's only hearing it for the first time when Ted goes back to explaining away their relationship 'bumps'.

He zones out through most of the explanation of their bickering, but his ears perk up when Ted gets to something that Robin never mentioned.

"It's been a tense time at work. We were approached to design this new skyscraper in Spokane," he informs James and Barney. "It's a huge project for the future of the firm, a real coup, but it's not been without its difficulties. Who am I kidding?" Ted chuckles humorlessly. "It's been nothing _but_ difficulties. First, there was – "

Now, it's Robin's turn to zone out. It's all she can do to fight off an eye roll.

In addition to their other problems, Ted has been literally complaining about work nonstop for weeks. The day before yesterday when she went over to his place and he started up again, she couldn't take it anymore; she was just _done_. That sparked another fight, with her finally admitting how boring his work stories are to her and how annoying his constant griping is, and Ted claiming that he doesn't feel valued unless she listens to said dumb work stories, no matter how dull and repetitive they are or how long he drones on – and on and _on_. They fought, she left, and they hadn't spoken since. She just needed a break.

"But that's all behind us now," Ted gushes, "because Robin called and said she wanted to talk and, after all, the best thing about having a fight is the making up," he says, drawing Robin's body closer against him and her mind back into the conversation. "And tonight is Valentine's Day, so we get to really do it up in style."

"You don't say," Barney replies glibly at the same time James politely answers with, "That's nice."

It happens in a blur from there: Robin plasters on a fake smile, the four of them wander back to the table, and she feels like the quicksand she's somehow wound up in is dragging her down deeper and deeper.

They all chat for a bit about what Barney was up to in L.A. – being sure to keep the specifics vague since only Robin knows the truth of James and Barney's profession. Barney spends much of the discussion showering them with stories of his various California conquests, and by the time they leave she's quite certain she's buried well over her head.

* * *

That night, all throughout her date with Ted, Robin's stomach churns almost as much as her mind. It's hard enough trying to break up with a guy on Valentine's Day – in a romantic, dimly lit restaurant, surrounded by happy couples – but after what she learned this afternoon, the whole thing is left in question.

The five of them all turning out to be friends changes _everything_; there's no denying at.

And her resolve is melting quicker than their gelato as it hits her tongue.

Because, ever since she found out, all she keeps hearing in her mind are Barney's sweet words of comfort to her last: _I was yours first._

But he wasn't.

He was Ted's, and Marshall's and Lily's first.

Does that mean if she breaks up with Ted, she'll lose Barney too?

It was one thing to run that risk with the others…but not with him.

As for everything else she thought about last night, well, that went up in smoke instantly. It's not like she can be friends-with-benefits with Barney now. That's completely out of the question. Even if Barney managed to successfully maintain a relationship with each of them after the breakup, the entire dynamic between them will be different now that she's dated and dumped his close friend.

Even under the best case scenario, if somehow their whole friendship group could survive a 'Ted and Robin as exes' situation, sleeping with Barney would immediately tear the gang completely apart. Which means that Barney is entirely off-limits to her now – not that he'd do that to his bro, anyway.

And it's not all about Barney either.

There's something to be said about a _real_ relationship. Not one as serious as Ted might like it, but she understands now why relationships can have a certain appeal. Certainly, they've had their troubles, but she's never been with a guy this long before and she has to admit there are things about it that can be nice.

It's a relief not to have to go out looking for sex. Even more, it's weirdly enjoyable sleeping with someone who knows you better than just a one-night stand or a short fling. It feels good – warm and inviting – to be wanted more than just sexually, to be with someone who actually _feels_ something for you. And it's comforting knowing that person will be there at the end of the day to come home to. It's nice to be someone's Number One.

Plus, this could very well be her only chance at a real relationship, her only chance at normalcy. She's not your typical woman and far from a doting girlfriend. She's not exactly the girl you bring home to your mother – evidenced by how disastrous her meeting with Ted's parents had gone. But he still wants to be with her more than anything, and maybe you just shouldn't look that gift horse in the mouth.

What's more, Ted is textbook boyfriend material: loyal, attentive and, for the most part, concerned with making her happy. If she can't make it with him, then who _can_ she make it with? Is she just being unrealistic wanting something more? It's hard to say; it's not like she's had any examples in her life or even close to the typical experience.

In the end, it's just _easier_ for Robin to silently finish her dessert and let Ted sweep her along on his relationship tidal wave, the way she's done ever since he first started pursuing her. It's simpler, effortless, uncomplicated and entirely risk-free.

* * *

The following evening, all five of them are set to meet at MacLaren's.

Robin gets there early, already nursing a scotch; she has a feeling many of them are going to be necessary to get through this night.

She shouldn't be surprised, but somehow she is, when Barney suddenly slides into the booth across from her – the second to arrive – and now it's just the two of them alone with the elephant in the room.

He doesn't say anything, only looks at her, but his look speaks volumes.

"I tried to break up with him," she explains herself, for some reason feeling guiltily, which is completely ridiculous. "I really did."

"But?" Barney voices the implied conjunction. Though it hardly needs to be said; he remembers well what she said the night he came home about chickening out.

"But…" she begins, wanting to say 'But Ted's better than nothing', 'But I can't sleep with you now', 'But the entire dynamic shifted with the revelation that we all know each other in our little, incestuous group'. Really, any of those would do, but not a single one is appropriate to say.

And it's not like she's flush with other options. Ted happened because she was lonely and feeling vulnerable, and though Barney may be back now he's still _Barney_, with plays to run and chicks to bang. They're bros, but he doesn't exist to be her emotional support 24/7. There's a thin line between friendship and boyfriend territory, but she's sure Barney has that line marked like the Grand Canyon…which is perfect because she does too. That's why it all added up to staying with Ted.

"But Ted entangles you," she finally settles on. "It's hard to break free."

"What you're saying is you're trapped."

She slowly swirls the scotch in her glass, watching as it splashes against the sides. "What I'm saying is Ted does an excellent job of selling himself and all he has to offer. Sometime a girl can't resist the bargain." As good as her Glen McKenna looks in her glass it would be even better in her stomach, flowing through her veins where she needs it, and so she takes a long gulp, savoring the burn as it hits the back of her throat. "And you know Ted, so you get it now," she says with something like relief coloring her voice. "He's not a bad guy. He's not a bad boyfriend. He's just strong-willed. But so are you. So am I."

"Yes, we are." Barney nods. "And you're right; Ted's a good guy. He has his faults, as everyone but me does, but he always comes through in the end, a bro of all bros. You don't have to sell me on Ted. But that doesn't change the fact that you and Ted go together like peanut butter and pickles."

A tiny smile twitches on her lips at his logic, or lack thereof. "Don't pregnant women crave peanut butter and pickles?"

"Exactly. You stay with Ted and the next thing you know you're as big as a house, shucking out his brats and carting them around in a minivan."

Robin laughs outright at the suggestion. "Uh, that is _never_ going to happen."

"Uh-huh, and people dying of hyperthermia always insist they're not cold."

"Barney, I can assure you, I'm in no danger of having Ted's babies."

"Maybe not, but the two of you couldn't be any more different. I thought that from the first moment you told me about him, and now that I actually know who he is? _Good god_, it's even truer! How is that going to work down the line, hmm?" Barney poses with a sassy, I-obviously-know-much-better-than-you attitude. "You have to share the same interests and want the same things out of life for there to be any real future. But have you given a thought to that? No. You're just too afraid to say, 'Ted, it's not me, it's you'."

"Well, maybe this isn't a long-term future thing," she concedes, "but when has either of us _ever_ thought about that?" she presents defensively, bristling after he basically just called her a coward, an allegation that strikes too close for comfort. "It is what is it. And, for right now anyway, it's good for me."

He can see her mind is made up and anything further is just going to drive a rift between them, risk driving her away. "Okay then," Barney relents, though something in his voice sounds like _you'll see_.

"Okay," Robin nods. The booth falls silent, and it feels like they just had a fight but she's not sure over what; ultimately, Ted being her boyfriend makes things easier for Barney. Now he doesn't have to try to make nice with some hypothetical guy he doesn't get along with.

As if reading her thoughts, Barney offers a counter argument. "This is going to be a little weird knowing Ted's the poor bastard we've been making fun of." His eyes suddenly go huge. "Wait." Then they dart about frantically, his mouth falling open. "Dude. Dude! DUDE!" he squeals, thrilled, having just realized.

"Oh my god," she laughs. "What?"

He's almost too excited to get the words out. "Lily told me that when she was worried about getting married without having had certain experience, like a lesbian dalliance in college, Ted's girlfriend solved that one for her by giving her a kiss. So if _you're_ Ted's girlfriend," he says, and Robin sighs, already knowing where he's going with this, "that means you," he points at her, gasping, breathless, "and Lily _made out_!"

"We did not make out."

"Oh, you totally did. You totally wanted it."

Robin can't help laughing again at his enthusiasm. "It was just a tiny peck to prove a point."

Barney shakes his head. "I don't care what you say, in my mind there was full-on tongue and Lily was squeezing your boobs while you were grabbing her ass."

* * *

Later that night, James catches Barney alone up at the bar, buying the gang another round. "I thought I'd find you here," he says, walking up beside him.

"Hey! Bro, come sit with us," Barney offers exuberantly, well into tipsy by now – and James is certain will make it all the way to good and drunk by evening's end. "There's room if you just shove Lily over the way I did Robin." With Marshall and Lily on one side and Ted and Robin on the other, there was no designated space for Barney. He could have pulled up a chair onto the end, but sidling in and forcing Robin to make room – an arrangement that necessitated they sit close enough their thighs were touching – was much more fun.

"No, I'm good. I'm meeting Tom later." James hadn't come to join them. He'd come to talk to Barney. But now he's wondering if maybe he shouldn't stay after all. "But first tell me what's going on with you and Robin. I saw the looks you two were exchanging when you figured out Ted was her boyfriend. Did something happen between you? I knew you had a thing for her but I didn't realize it went this deep. There's no use denying it. Barney, I know you're in love with her, so what are you going to do about it?"

"_In love_?" Barney scoffs in amusement. "James, that is crazy talk. I am not 'in love' with Robin," he laughs. "Just because you've got it for Tom doesn't mean it's contagious." But James hits him with a raised eyebrow and a look that cuts clean through his B.S. almost as fast as their mom can. "Okay, yes," Barney allows, "I want to do her." James says nothing. "Alright, I _really_ want to do her," he admits fervently. "She's more than just the itch I can't scratch; it's a whole other level at this point. And, yes, I did offer to sleep with her exclusively if that's what it takes to get to _actually_ sleep with her. Fine, I'll take that one for the team. But – "

"You offered to be exclusive?" James stops him there, shocked.

"Exclusive in a friends-with-benefits arrangement." Barney shrugs like it's no big deal. "She didn't want the Stinson pen dipping in anyone else's ink as long as it was dipping in hers. She's got a thing about people taking bites out of her food, so you can imagine where she's coming from with this," he expounds. "But it was nothing serious, and she turned me down anyway. We've moved past it. And now she has a boyfriend. A boyfriend who happens to be my best bro. So, no, I'm not in love with Robin. I'm not even in like with her. I promise you, brother to brother, there's nothing between us but the Bro Code."

James regards him a long, studying moment before clamping his hand to his shoulder. "Good," he says, joking to ease the tension as he's certain Barney's lying, "because the whole 'I'm in love with my best friend's girl' thing is so overdone."

"The only thing I'm in love with is me." Barney shoots him a whiskey grin. "And sex! Anonymous sex with buxom bimbos, that's my one true love. So no worries from me."

But James knows better; the 'worries' have only just begun.


End file.
